


Shattered

by Diamonddancer229



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Anal Sex, Assassin/Spy Harry, Creature Fic, Crossdressing Kink, Dark Fantasy, Dark Harry Potter, Dumbledore Bashing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Menstrual Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, S&M, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamonddancer229/pseuds/Diamonddancer229
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is captured, enslaved, corrupted, and changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Indomitable Slave

**Author's Note:**

> Just some quick notes. First, this is going to be a very explicit, very graphically violent fiction. There will be loads of cussing, bleeding, destruction, torture, mayhem. You name it. Second, nothing can be counted as being the same as the book. I am altering this severely. Third, I don't normally like the P-word that means vagina, but I used it in this fiction, and will probably do so again. Sorry if it offends you, it offends me too, I just want this fiction to be over the top dark.

Shattered  
By: Diamonddancer229  
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter or do I claim to have come up with any of the remarkable characters, places, or likewise. I am not making money or trying to with this fiction.  
Summary: Harry is captured, enslaved, corrupted, and changed.  
Warnings: Adult language, gay sex, non-consensual, very graphic description of sexual acts and violence. (Pairings: Voldemort/Harry, Lucius/Harry, Draco/Harry, Bellatrix/Harry)

 

Chapter One: The Indomitable Slave

 

Harry swallowed thickly. The taste of copper hit the back of his throat and he moaned as a wave of incredible pain seared through him. He arched into the cold, dark room. The movement pulled the heavy chains attached to his thick iron manacles taut, in turn pulling his arms painfully tight. The metal cuffs bit cruelly into his wrist, chafing and causing blood to bleed through broken scabs. 

They refused to heal such trivial things until they became festering and nasty because Harry refused to bend his will. They didn’t count on the fact that Harry had been mistreated, beaten, abused, and neglected his whole life. So what if they locked him in a small dark room, with nothing to eat for days on end because he dared to spit at the Dark Lord’s feet? Been there got the t-shirt.

They tortured him, raped him, humiliated him, and paraded the Fallen Chosen One around as a joke, and a reminder. All must bend before they Dark Lord or they must be broken. Harry had yet to break.

He had lost count of the months, he only knew it had nearly been a year since Hogwarts had fallen, and the Ministry had fallen shortly before that. They had lost the Battle for Hogwarts. Voldemort resided there now, like a spider in his web. It made the vain man proud to pollute and corrupt this place that had mistrusted him as much as the muggle orphanage that he grown up in, that Dumbledore had protected so mightily. 

Assuredly there would be a celebration to mark the anniversary of the final battle and Harry was sure Voldemort would parade him around there. Harry didn’t really care. It had all become sort of like a perverse game to him. He would go, and fight and struggle against his humiliating bonds. Voldemort would punish him till he bled from holding back the screams. The man would push him till the first scream broke loose. That was when they knew Harry had met his threshold. They didn’t want to overtax their favorite toy.

Harry had become almost jaded by the routine in truth. He missed the excitement of fighting and fleeing for his life, and solving on-the-spot puzzles. When Harry had first arrived, he had ranted and raved for days as they murdered his friends in front of his eyes. One by one, day by day, they brought Harry before Voldemort and raped, tortured, murdered his friends. When none were left Voldemort turned to him.

Voldemort allowed very few to actually touch him. Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix with Voldemort supervision, Rebastian Lestrange, and on very few occasions Severus Snape.

Snape was the worst of the lot, but Harry anticipated Snape’s visit as much as he hated the man himself. He had heard the vow Snape had taken to ensure Draco’s wellbeing, and he knew the man was bound, but it didn’t stop the betrayal of Dumbledore’s murder, planned or not. Snape never touched Harry on his visits either. The man had shuddered in disgust when Harry had asked why he didn’t use this excuse to torture and humiliate him like the others. Snape face had soured and the man had threatened to leave.

Snape always came with salves, and painkilling potions, and healing elixirs. Harry wondered if Voldemort never punished the man for taking his leave to heal Harry instead of torture him. He noticed Snape’s visit seemed to coincide to when his health was at its worst or Voldemort pushed Harry’s body a little too far. Harry chuckled a little to think that maybe Voldemort had a small shred of a conscience somewhere that was quietly rooting for Harry.

More than likely Voldemort appeased Snape because the man was a terrible deadly Potions Master, a brilliant spy, and an invaluable help to the Dark Lord and his causes. Harry was sure he was kept in well enough health that Voldemort didn’t jeopardize his Horcrux, which still resided in Harry. Harry was sure Voldemort could love nothing but power. Snape’s visits were just coincidentally well timed.

Draco’s visits were trivially. The boy was soft. Harry was convinced Draco was half in love with him. He never tortured Harry over much, but sometimes he might strapped Harry down. Other times, he would gag Harry, when Harry uttered filthy obscenities, and teased Draco for not being able to succeed properly at anything. Once he had gotten the boy to slap him, but Draco had cried pitifully for half an hour after that.

Most the time he had Harry suck his cock. It was slender, pale, with a fat bulbous tip that glared red when he was aroused. He liked it slowly and deeply. He liked to fuck Harry like that too. Like they were making love, and he often got angry that Harry refused to kiss him without biting the pale blonde’s thin lips. He would fuck Harry face to face, or Harry would blow him. Draco would say his name softly, reverently, and look at him like he couldn’t believe he was getting to touch Harry finally.

Harry was sickened by the sweetness of it. It was almost like a form of torture itself, and sometimes he was sure that Voldemort knew it. He could and had on many occasions, plundered Harry’s mind, and always after such encounters.

Bellatrix’s visits were predictable and barely noteworthy. She would always cover Harry in the blood of animals, have him eat her filthy, menstruating pussy. She would hump his face frantically as he tongued her swollen labia, licking the coppery tasting discharge from her folds, as she moaned wildly. Then she’d crucio him till his eyes rattled in his head. It was always so.

Rebastian was wild and unrestrained in his torture. He often left Harry aching and throbbing for days, and in need of Snape’s assistance. His visit were normally reserved for when Harry had been a particularly nasty bastard to Voldemort and his cronies. He never raped Harry, at least not with his own body, but had put rather unpleasant objects in Harry’s bum that tore his insides painfully. He was all about the precise, methodical study of torture on a specimen. Harry always felt like a bug caught under a magnifying glass. Rebastian studied him for his reactions to his unique new spells and potions that he designed to torment his victims. He was physically torturous, and at times became angry and disgruntled with Harry’s lack of proper reactions.

If Harry pushed him too far Rebastian often paid him back by breaking bones, slicing into his skin with surgical cutting spells, and sometimes de-evolved into pulling his fingernails and toenails from their beds. Harry didn’t like the man but he still wasn’t on par for the pain Voldemort or Lucius could dole out.

Lucius, Harry reckoned, was a challenge and Harry loved a challenge. Lucius was thorough in his torment, he always started small and insignificant, like verbally teasing Harry softly for being the filthy, dirty, blood traitor he was, and work his way through humiliation, outright shame, and uncomfortable torment into torturing, then fast and brutally thorough rape. Lucius was a master, and Harry fancied that if they weren’t in this position, if things had been different, he might have had a kink for the deadly blonde all on his own.

Lucius took care of Harry day to day, and Harry had been pretty much given to Lucius as a treat, because Lucius was the most loyal, the most dedicated and hard-working of Voldemort’s DeathEaters. Harry didn’t mind because he had a sick fascination with Lucius and his drawn out foreplay. Lucius liked to spank Harry over his lap until Harry’s ass was red and swollen. He liked to make Harry crawl to him, liked to feed Harry like a dog, watching as he ate from a silver bowl on the floor. Lucius had even pissed on him before.

Lucius like to degrade Harry and make him beg for release, the only thing that anyone had successfully gotten him to beg for yet. He like to dress him in frilly high society ball gowns, complete with corset and garters. Harry would stand as silk stockings were drawn up his freshly shaved legs, tremble when Lucius would lift his leg by gripping his calf in his soft hands and lace up the fancy, hand sewn, and bejeweled heels at his ankles. Lucius would lace the corset himself too, tugging it together as he worked it tight enough to make Harry draw small, breathy gasps of air. It made him talk higher and breathier too. 

If that wasn’t enough, Lucius would drape him in the finest jewelry Harry had ever laid his eyes on. Sometimes diamonds, sometimes dark blood-red rubies, mostly strands of perfectly cut and placed emeralds. Some of the pieces were so large they would cover Harry from beneath his chin all the way down his collarbone and into the hollow that would be his cleavage were he actually a woman. Then, Lucius would spray him down with a light mist of some admittedly heavenly fragrance that remind Harry at once of citrus, sandalwood, and something flowery. House elves were called to apply artful makeup, his eyes always darkly rimmed in kohl.

When he was ready he would look not like a degraded sex slave for a Dark Lord and his faithful, but a noblewoman of worth. It served to remind him starkly that he was not because that was when his degradation would increase tenfold.

Lucius would parade him around on a dainty little leash that sparkled with encrusted jewels. Through the Ministry on his daily errands, through the Manor even as his wife Narcissa regarded Harry through narrowed, envious eyes. Then at some inane moment, somewhere perfectly innocuous, and terribly public, he liked to have Harry take off the frilly overdress and kneel on his stockings knees and suck Lucius into his mouth. Lucius was always about slow sensuality. He would fuck Harry’s mouth slowly, inch by inch with his large, dark purple, veiny cock. His prick was much like the man-perfectly cut, large in stature, impressive to watch work.

Harry was deeply ashamed to admit he liked it when Lucius pushed all the way into his mouth hitting the back of his throat, and would come to a stop. He would pump his hips in tight little circles, moaning low in the back of his throat as Harry gagged and choked around the hard member. Lucius like to pull away suddenly too, reveling in the huffs of impatient greediness he could pull from Harry.

Harry most likes the point when Lucius would finally be satisfied in his tormenting of Harry and the blonde would bend him over the closest available surface, summon and mirror, and fuck Harry fast and ruthlessly as Lucius sought completion. He would hold Harry’s head still and force Harry to look him in the eyes, by painfully grasping a handful of Harry’s hair and making him watch the mirror. Lucius played Harry like the finest instrument, and Lucius was his Master.

Voldemort’s trips had become increasingly important to Harry, he mused. Somewhere in his battle worn soul, a dark desperate sort of love was blossoming. Voldemort could be demanding and cruel. He could be the worst sort of task master, but there were the odd moments when the man thought Harry was oblivious, that he would reach out and trace the spidery bolt on Harry’s forehead. The man had even taking to tucking Harry in when he thought the boy sleeping. His gestures were caring, and Harry had been so badly starved for it that he grabbed for it relentlessly upon its offering. He didn’t care anymore. Voldemort must have sensed the shift in Harry. Things slowly began to change after that.  
Voldemort’s trips became shorter and sparser. Harry never knew when the man was coming. He would just pop into the Malfoy’s Manor, and snatch him away from whatever task he had been set to. He was vicious in his claiming of Harry, but Harry thought Voldemort may have felt the same sort of affection for Harry that he did for the Dark Lord. He thought that may have been why Voldemort’s trips were becoming so few and far between.

Harry didn’t think the Dark Lord could understand what it meant to love, even if the man could feel it stir painfully in his chest. It stirred painfully in Harry’s, it tore at him when he spied the man from afar. His scar would ache, and the man’s piercing red eyes would hunt him out in the crowd. Voldemort’s gaze would narrow and focus, enough to make the Horcrux throb in his scar, and he would feel possessed. 

Voldemort favored hard, fast fucking. He liked to push Harry against walls and wrap the boy’s legs around his waist and fuck him raw with no preparation. Voldemort’s cock was thick and long, it strained angrily against his belly, with a slight curve to the left. Voldemort liked to watch the expressions, pain, hate, the confusing fondness, the adoration that shone from Harry unintentionally. 

Harry could never hide his feelings very well, and he hadn’t gotten better with time. If he was angry, he acted defiantly. When he was sad, he cried and raged against his restrictions. When he was with Lucius, he acted every bit the lustful, tarty, high-priced whore. Here with Voldemort, he acted shamefully compliantly. No, he wasn’t broken, they would never break him, but regardless his heart belonged to the man that had captured him.

Voldemort would flee shortly upon his and Harry’s completion. He would leave, stooping as he passed the bed from the bathroom to the door, to plant a quick kiss to Harry’s scar. Harry would moan, the kiss was always accompanied by a searing but sweet pain, and then the man would be gone again. Harry couldn’t stand it when Voldemort refused to visit him for weeks.

This had been Harry’s life for several long months now, he mused as he laid in pain on the cold floor. Someone would be along shortly, possibly Severus. Harry wasn’t sure but he thought maybe it had been three days since he had royally pissed off the Dark Lord. He had been angry because it had been nearly two months since Voldemort’s last visit and he had behaved accordingly. 

Voldemort had given him his undivided attention then. Harry had convulsed on the floor for hours under the onslaught of the man’s anger, and when Harry had sat up calmly and spit at the man’s feet as he approach, Voldemort had slapped him outright, like a Muggle might have done. Voldemort was not one for the more hands on approach to torture. The man wielded his magic as his tools and cruel devices.

Voldemort had been furious enough that he had dragged Harry by his hair from the public chamber and away from the prying eyes of the DeathEaters. He had lashed Harry’s back till it bled, and fucked him till blood trickled from Harry’s abused anus. Harry didn’t scream, but he recalled with anger that he had cried. Not broken, no, Voldemort would not break him.

Harry heard the quiet tap of the cane echoing down the narrow stairs that led here off the main basement of the house. Perhaps they wouldn’t heal him then if Lucius was coming to fetch him. Harry winched and tried his hand at sitting up. When the door was opened abruptly and the light came rushing in, Harry raised his arm to shield his face from the harsh light. 

“Potter,” Lucius muttered. Harry heard the man utter a series of rapid fire cleaning and basic healing spells. Harry and the room were suddenly much cleaner, and far better smelling. Harry sighed, relieved and grateful.

“Lucius.” He wouldn’t ask for Severus, though the wish was there burning fiercely. Scabs were pulling and he could feel blood leaking from the freshly disinfected wounds. Better, but not nearly enough. He didn’t suppose healing was Lucius’s forte though. 

“You silly, foolish boy. When will you learn?” Cool fingers brushed hair away from his sweating temple. “You have a fever, and that is something beyond my capabilities. Severus has been sent for and should arrive momentarily. Narcissa is upstairs, she should be able to ease the worst of the fever and pain. Come.”

Harry’s knees buckled when Lucius pulled him to his feet. He cursed then, falling into the elder Malfoy’s waiting arms. He wanted to cry for another split second, but pushed the feelings angrily aside. “Perhaps I pushed him too far,” he admitted. He missed the man though, he missed him and he couldn’t admit it because in a way that would just mean Voldemort had won. He made the Order’s Golden Boy fall in love with him, ha!

Lucius made a sound much like a snort, but far more refined. “Sadly you underestimate. The Dark Lord is beyond furious with you, even still. What were you thinking? Even for you that was terrible rash.”

“Okay,” Harry hissed. His arms slithered out and his hands settled tentatively on Lucius’s abdomen. Harry couldn’t miss this slight quiver in the man’s belly. He slid his hands around slowly, till his arms circled Lucius’s waist, a small taste of his own medicine. “It was foolish.”

“Why then? Why do you always push the Dark Lord? The body can be pushed further than he has yet to push you even now Harry. Do you crave your punishments?”

Harry growled and clenched his hands in Lucius’s robes to keep himself from lashing out at the man. The blonde knew he did. Voldemort had shared more than a few of Harry’s memories with Lucius. Sometimes the things he craved now sickened him. Harry knew he really just want to belong somewhere. Somewhere safe from the rest of the world and all its problems. He didn’t ask to be a savior, he didn’t ask to be the Dark Lord’s enemy. He was sick of fighting the rising tide of darkness eating its way out of his soul. “No,” he answered mutely instead.

Lucius smiled slow and seductive. “Then why Harry? Tell me why.” He smiled far too silkily. He knew already, Voldemort had already pried the truth from him, and he just wanted to hear the boy admit it aloud. They probably both did. 

“Fuck you,” he cursed and raised his hands quickly to raked his ragged nails sharply down the sides of Lucius’s neck.

Lucius hissed, but held still until Harry’s claws had left his skin, then the blonde lashed out, knocking Harry into the wall and pinning him there. The man snarled in his face, spittle flying and his teeth bared. “You like it too much, it’s hardly punishment at all for you anymore, is it you filthy cockwhore? If it weren’t for that Horcrux and the fact your once-tight virgin ass has been such a delectable treat to us, you’d have been broken from misuse far long ago.”

“Pity then, you must think of me when you’re fucking that cold, dead, bitch of a wife?” Harry could give as well as he could receive. He was learning from the best of the best after all.

Lucius smiled had a smile like the coldest winter when he was beginning to get irritated by Harry’s childish behavior. He pinned Harry’s hips to the wall roughly with his own gyrating them against Harry until he moaned against his will, argument briefly forgotten. Point to Lucius for proving his point all too thoroughly. Harry craved these hostile, sexually tense moments before one of his upset owners would light into him.

“You are a naughty, naughty boy, Mr. Potter,” Lucius smirked against his cheek before the blonde pulled back a hand and slapped that cheek hard.

The response was immediately evident, Harry’s prick hardened along the line of Lucius’s hard thigh were it rested between his legs. He grunted at the maddening contact, but pain was building too heavily in the background for him to ignore. Harry needed Snape now. They couldn’t break his mind but Voldemort was doing a damn fine job with his body. He really didn’t want to ask.

“Tell me Harry, what is it that gets you off about rutting like a wild animal when you’re already so well used, so thoroughly broken?” Lucius smile sinisterly, gunmetal gray eyes twinkling.

Harry’s waning strength returned and he fought the blonde’s hold on him. Lucius slapped his other cheek, sending his head reeling even as his hips bucked harder against Harry. Harry moaned eagerly. “I…,” he didn’t want to talk. “I’m not fucking broken,” he hissed.

Lucius chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that, boy. The sooner you admit it the sooner progress can be made, Mr. Potter. Don’t you think?”

“I think you talk too much, and think too highly of whatever it is you’re babbling about,” he growled out. He was expecting a slap but instead Lucius leaned into him, his forearm braced on Harry’s throat. Then his other hand came up, slithering over Harry’s jaw, fingers pinching roughly into jawbone, forcing his mouth open. Lucius shoved his fingers inside, crudely, until Harry choked.

“It would be wise today, Harry, to hold your tongue. I will hold it for you if you wish to rebel. However, I would hate to have to send Severus away. Don’t you want you wounds healed, now? Answer like a good boy.” Lucius removed his fingers so Harry could speak.

Harry was so relieved that Snape was in the Manor he almost nodded rather eagerly. Instead he pulled himself back a little, tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment of the question. He feigned cool indifference, though it was really just as telling. Lucius smiled clearly pleased.

“Very good then. Today is a new day Harry. We have a very special surprise for you. We’ve come to the conclusion that it’s high time you joined the DeathEaters.” Lucius grinned at him. 

Harry just blinked for a moment, caught by surprise. “You want me to be a DeathEater?”

“Oh yes, a very special DeathEater.” 

Lucius was by far too pleased with whatever their plans for Harry were. Harry was beginning to worry. It had been a long time since he felt the thrill of unknown danger down his spine. Lucius caught the scent of it without hesitation and crowded Harry back against the wall, sniffing his neck like one might first sniff a glass of wine before sampling its taste.

“Just tell me Lucius.” Harry shoved at the broad shoulders in front of him. It was ineffectual, but it helped calm the butterflies in his stomach.

Lucius made a tsk-ing noise and smoothed the hair back from the scar on Harry’s brow. “That is for the Dark Lord to reveal to you. You are his first, before mine. Though sometimes I loathe it.”

Harry was briefly confused by the confession but the dark look in Lucius’s eyes spoke only too clearly. He smirked and leaned into the older man’s chest. “Don’t be sad, Lucy. You’ll always be special to me,” he purred, rubbing himself over what he could touch of the blonde.

Lucius stepped back quickly and turned Harry around, leaned him against the wall, and spread his legs. Harry heard the quiet slither of Lucius’s hard dragon hide belt sliding through the loops of the man’s trousers. There were a few spare moments of absolute quiet, then the sharp crack of that damn belt was laying blazing hot strips of fire on the inside of Harry’s thighs.

Harry couldn’t restrain the cry that left his lips on the very first hit, and he felt the man behind him falter because of it. Lucius was far too well trained though, and the first hit was followed by a second, then a third, and so on until Harry lost count.

“Please,” he finally croaked. He wasn’t broken, he simply couldn’t physically take anymore right now. “Severus,” he whispered, only slightly defeated.

“Very well,” Lucius whispered back and he cast a spell to ease Harry’s weight, scooping him from the floor. 

“Do not tempt the Dark Lord,” Lucius warned darkly, as they set off down the hall to a suite of rooms that came with a fully stocked Potions laboratory. They had been specifically altered for Snape’s stays. “His temper has been short and foul of late, if you know what is good for you, you will do your best to please him. Pacify him, I’m sure you can find a way.”

Harry nodded weakly, clutching his arms tighter around Lucius’s neck. In that moment he thought he just might do anything, anything at all for Voldemort if the man would allow him to be something more than this plaything he was. Harry didn’t see how serving Voldemort could be any worse than serving Dumbledore.

Harry was no fool. He saw Dumbledore for the conniving, manipulating, Lord that he was. Because that was how all Lords were in Harry’s opinion, whether they had an affinity for Light or Dark Magic. Harry had done a great deal of research when he had begun to suspect Dumbledore was every bit as capable of manipulating people as Voldemort was. After all, the crazy old man expected him to die to save the world. Him, a boy. Harry had found this out on his own. He had discovered the secret of Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes. He even still had the diary, whole and intact stored safely in a shrunken trunk he carried on him at all times. Well, he had before he was captured. 

Harry smiled suddenly lifting his head quickly so that Lucius had to jerk his chin out of the way to avoid getting it knocked off. “I know what I can give him! I know what should make him happy. Didn’t you say my things were here somewhere? The things you captured us with at the camp? I need my old beat-up rucksack.”

Lucius looked at him quizzically but a moment later he summoned a house elf, demanded the bag, and moments later the elf popped back in front of them with the worn, dirty bag. Harry wrestled his way out of Lucius grasp and grabbed the bag. He opened it praying the trunk was still there. 

When his fingers closed around it he knew. He felt it in his scar. The tiny thread of Voldemort’s soul stirred within in as it sensed the other parts of the man’s soul at his fingertips. They were here. All the Horcruxes but Nagini and himself who were already safe with the Dark Lord. For some reason he had never been able to destroy the real ones. For some reason he had always believed there had to be a better way to save the man than to destroy his crippled soul pieces. Harry couldn’t fathom the pieces of his soul floating blindly for eternity always pining for their mates. He had faked the destruction of each Horcrux as he collected them.

He shook himself from his strange musing and looked up at Lucius, the trunk that looked more like a matchbook clutched in his hands. “You should take me to Voldemort first. It’s important, and I know it will please him. I want to bargain…for some sort of freedom. I would rather be a DeathEater than a caged whore. Dumbledore is not so different from the Dark Lord any way. Not in my experience.” Harry smiled darkly. “I’ve always been amazed at how well I can adapted.”

 

 

Voldemort’s head snapped up the minute Harry entered the room. He disappeared like a wisp of dark black smoke and reappeared in front of Harry. “What isss that you have boy!” he hissed, violently wrenching the tiny box from Harry’s hands. The man stood stock-still when he had it. Harry knew the effect the Horcruxes had on him, it must have been much more pronounced for Voldemort. For the first time in decades the entirety of the man’s soul was in the same space, the same room, all with-in contact of one another. The box in his hands, Harry at his feet, Nagini hanging from his thin shoulders. 

For a moment Harry thought he saw Tom Riddle looking out of those crimson eyes. “I kept them. Riddle, the fragment in your diary told me everything. Dumbledore never told me till much later but I had already done my research first. I had already found most of them, and the few that Dumbledore got first, I stole back before he could destroy them. He never suspected me.” Harry didn’t mention, he hadn’t really done it to help Voldemort. He had just wanted to figure out a way to reunite the Dark Lord’s soul, so he could be rid of the blasted Horcrux in his head and Voldemort could die a normal death and perhaps peacefully rest.

Harry just didn’t want to die, and somehow that realization made Voldemort’s struggle for immortality that much more reassuring. Harry had done some crazy things just these past few months to stay sane and alive. How could he fault the man for what he did? Harry was considering-no had already decided he would rather be a DeathEater if it gave him some kind of freedom away from this monotony. 

“Boy…,” Voldemort whispered. He was gazing reverently on the box. “How many?” He stroked the box with his fingertips.

“All of them,” Harry smiled. He had fallen to his knees when Voldemort had snatched the box from him but he rose now, shakily.

Voldemort shuddered and hissed, his head rolling back on his neck as if he were relieving himself of a cramp. “Severus, help the boy!” He waved at Harry though his red eyes never left the box in his hands.

Severus stepped forward, and Harry hadn’t realized he’d even been there really. The Potion Master had several vials ready for him, and Harry drank them without complaint. He didn’t even grimace from the taste. Narcissa stepped forward then and preformed a series of spells to mend his wounds and cull out the infected flesh. When she was done Harry knew there wouldn’t be a single scar to mar his flesh. Narcissa was a master at mending such things as unsightly blemishes, scars, anything that would mar flesh.

Harry took the treatment quietly watching as Voldemort enlarged his trunk and easily dispelled the rather complicated enchantments Harry had specially placed on it. The Dark Lord lifted the hood reverently and gazed in wonder at the trinkets from his past, trinkets that had become so much more than metal, wood, cloth, and paper.

“I want my freedom. I’ll swear whatever oath you want. I’ll fight Dumbledore with you, whatever it takes.”

Voldemort sneered in Harry’s generally direction and cast him a wary glance. “Why did you save these?”

Harry shrugged, he honestly couldn’t say why he had, he just wasn’t sure he could rid himself of the one in him without the others. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just couldn’t destroy them without fully understanding what they were and what they did. Maybe it was just the Horcrux in me protecting its missing pieces. I don’t know.”

Voldemort chuckled humorlessly then flourished his wand, and swirled it over the trunk. It snapped shut and Harry heard the lock click into place. That was nothing to the sheer amount of wards and curses the Dark Lord begin to weave over the surface of the wood. Harry could see the shimmer in the air around the box as Voldemort worked. He could understand the Parseltongue that Voldemort whispered over the box, though many of the spells he’d never even heard of. 

Suddenly the box disappeared with a crack and Voldemort was closing in on Harry. Harry hit his knees, because even though he considered himself not to be broken by this man, he still had the feeling Voldemort should not be tempted to hex him during this strange moment in time. There was always later, hopefully, to defy and irritate the man.

Voldemort chuckled as he stopped in front of Harry, and talon-like fingernails brushed his lips every so gently. “What a treasure trove you are, Harry Potter. Lucius, who was it that said they thoroughly checked through the boy’s possession for anything suspicious?”

“It was Wormtail, my Lord. Should I send for him?” Lucius answered readily.

“No, that is a matter for latter. I have just the thing for you young Harry. You wish for freedom do you not? I wish to control you. I have come to a magical conclusion after much thought. It will give me the necessary control to allow you some free reign, and I will still be able to control you should you chose to wander astray. I would call it a compromise, but you have no say in the matter because it was what I intended all along.”

“What do I have to do?” Harry asked. He looked into cold eyes that were regarding him.

“You simply have to drink this potion.”

Snape moved forward even as Harry shrunk back and glared at the Dark Lord. “You intend to poison me then after such a show of good faith?”

Voldemort laughed openly. “Of course not, silly boy. I intend for the contents of that vial to alter your genetic makeup a bit.” The man smiled cruelly and Harry was reminded he had no choice regardless.

He reached out and grasped the vial. “What do you mean it’s going to alter my genetic makeup? You aren’t turning me into a toad or something are you?”

“Nonsense you daft fool. What use would I have for a toad?” Voldemort un-stoppered the little cork from the tube. 

Harry held incredibly still as the surprisingly cold vial was held to his lip, pressing into it until he opened his mouth compliantly. “Is it going to kill me?” Harry mumbled. In a smaller voice still. “I don’t want to die…”

“What it will do is make you better. You will shed your human weaknesses. You will become a slave to the Dark, you will become a slave to me. I recognize you have an impressive amount of power, it calls to me. You will become my apprentice, I will teach you the Dark Arts. You will become my most lethal assassin. That is what I have in plan for you; that is the most freedom I will allow you. That or death, now drink the potion, Harry.” 

Harry drank the potion despite his rising anxiety. Surely they wouldn’t heal him to kill him? The taste was not unpleasant, surprisingly. It tasted of mint and a hint of chocolate with raspberries. He felt the cool slide of the potion flowing down his throat, into his esophagus. When it hit his stomach it exploded into a liquid rush of heat. Sweat was already beading on his brow and trickling down his neck. “What is this? What’s it doing?”

Severus stepped closer to him, gently moving Voldemort aside from where the man stared down at Harry rather intensely. “Do you feel the heat now Mr. Potter? It shouldn’t be unpleasant just surprising.”

Harry nodded. “Severus?” He didn’t need to ask the question again. Snape knew him well enough to see the trouble in his eyes. “It’s a potion I have developed specifically with you in mind, and at the Dark Lord request. It is a delicately balanced blend of Dark Creatures.”

“I gathered that I wasn’t going to come out of this quite human anymore. What are you making me? What do you mean by blend?”

Severus, his face sour at the interruption continued when Harry paused. “A blend, Mr. Potter. A mixture. More than one in a combination. You a neither one nor the other, but a hybrid of several. Where say a vampire may have a weakness against sunlight and fire, we have taken their strength and immortality and mixed it with a creature that thrives in the sun and is reborn in the ashes of its own fire.”

“A phoenix is a light creature,” Harry argued, his limbs weighed down as cold fire sweep through him. 

“Not every Phoenix is a light creature Mr. Potter. There are in fact rare occurrences of the Dark Phoenix. Far more powerful and lethally temperamental than Albus’s Fawkes, but very, very rare. We tracked one down just for you.”

“A vampire, and a Dark Phoenix then. Is that all?” Harry felt the oddest sensation flickering in the back of his mind. It was like a dark cloud moving over him, dulling his senses.

Severus shook his head. “No, Mr. Potter. There are quite a few more. Vampire, Dark Phoenix, incubus, thestral, boggart, acromantula, basilisk, werewolf, siren, on and on. For every creatures weakness you have a creature to counter with a strength against the last weakness. You Mr. Potter, are a true hybrid.”

“Why?” Harry sweating had stopped and it was cooling on his body, chilling him a bit. He felt the briefest flicker of pain and grimaced. “I am going to die aren’t I?”

“Not in the same respect a vampire might. We had to circumnavigate the actual death most would experience if infected with blood or saliva of any of these creatures. You couldn’t be allowed to truly die because it would destroy the Horcrux within you.”

The pain that had flickered in him momentarily flared dramatically. “This is going to hurt like fuck then, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. It will hurt, and be dangerous enough that you will be carefully monitored for the next twenty four hours. It should be complete then, but the pain will be great enough to be a risk if not properly managed. Tell me how you feel now?”

Harry gasped and stiffened as another wave of excruciating pain battered into him. “I’m pretty sure it’s starting now. It’s pain, a lot of pain.” Harry watched Snape write something down on a rolled parchment he produced from the folds of his robes.

“Yes, it has started. Drink this Mr. Potter. I am afraid this is this only pain potion I can allow you until after the change is complete. I don’t know what kind of reaction you will have once the chemicals start reacting as they should within the hour.”

Harry closed his lips in refusal. He was sure he would regret it later but at the moment he was lucid enough to refuse the potion. “No, I hate them.”

“Drink it Harry,” Voldemort hissed angrily. “Don’t let your foolish pride stand in your way now.”

Harry refused three more times until Voldemort took the chance for refusal away and forced the potion down his throat with spell that made him swallow. He choked on it hating them both. He hated the way pain potions made him groggy, and would normally only take one at the start of a healing session with Snape. He groaned, and despite his reluctance, he was grateful when the potion took the pain level down a notch.

“You should rest now. You have only two, maybe three, hours before the pain potion wears off, and then you will be in terrible pain.”

Harry didn’t know if he could sleep, but he was determined he was going to try. “Can you help me sleep then?” He didn’t look at Voldemort, he was still looking at the Potion Master, but the question was clearly for their Lord and Master.

Something sparked in the back of Voldemort’s red eyes when Harry finally did glance his way. The Dark Lord swept forward, his immaculate black robes swaying around his form softly. “Sleep,” he whispered in the sibilant tones of Parseltongue, and Harry thought he might have seen a hint of worry in those hypnotic eyes, right before the spell claimed him and carried him into unconsciousness. 

 

 

Harry had slept fitfully, and awakened as soon as the pain potion had worn off. He never known such all-encompassing pain. It thundered through him, pounding in his head, arching through his body like white-hot lightning riding the incoming storm inside him. Everything was both simultaneously burning and freezing inside him. His body was broken and fevered as things shifted and transformed. 

His lungs and heart were expanding, his ribcage lengthened and spread wider. The muscles in his legs became denser and suppler. His fingers grew a bit longer, nails growing into point, wickedly sharp talons. His hair grew thicker, curling down around his shoulder, and his lips plumped and turned a very seductive shade of dark coral. Everything about him lengthened, elongated, and grew until he was a very tall, lean, predator, built for speed and grace. 

His teeth were the final step in the metamorphosis, his canines sharpened into wicked sharp fangs, bottom and the top, something akin to the canines of a wolf. His eyes were the last and the only truly visible difference in Harry, hidden behind his eyelids, they didn’t see the change until his eyes blinked slowly open. 

He had stopped screaming abruptly, as his fangs had lengthened and stopped growing. He had sat up, those eyes flew open and he peered around the room, hand held in front of him to block the minimal light of the fireplace. His eyes were luscious and vibrantly green, glowing spectacularly in his face. If one looked close enough they might spy the magic whirling around his pupils. 

Even as his screams died down, and the fever in his body began cooling, Harry could feel a burning, bubbling, insane sort of hunger blossoming in his core. His eyes sought the various other in the room. Lucius, eyes troubled and worried stood by Severus, who was holding several beakers and tubes on front of him on a tray. Narcissa was a little ways off from them, separated from the rest by her loathing of Harry. He could hear her thoughts, she was disappointed he hadn’t slipped away into the oblivion of death. Draco and his new wife Greengrass-something or other stood next to the fireplace. Greengrass was too young to see what Narcissa could, that her fresh husband was wrapped around the finger of a sex slave. She stared at Harry with badly concealed pity.

Harry’s head snapped to the left the moment Voldemort’s feet had settled on the floor from his apparition. Magic in waves poured from the man, more magic than Harry had ever felt in his life. It was all violent and wild and held tightly on reign by the Dark Lord it had given itself too, and Voldemort indeed was the Dark Lord. Harry could feel the seductive call, an incredible pull at the magical center of his being, and knew this was his Master. 

Voldemort beckoned him without moving so much as a muscle and the power and command in it had him all but moaning. His body, which felt weightless, strong, and utterly powerful, slipped naked from between the sheets. He moved like smoke, deceptively lazy if one forgot that behind smoke came fire. His hips rolled forward and he was aware of his beauty in a moment of clarity. He could hear the stuttered intakes of air, he could smell the thick release of arousal that came at him from all sides, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing matter, he surmised, as he sauntered across the distance between him and Voldemort. Nothing matter except the man before him, his blood thick and poisonous, his order echoing in Harry’s head, demanding to be filled. Harry came to a stop across from the man. He tilted his head, and closed his eyes. Voldemort smelled so damn intoxicating. Harry heard the distinct rumble of his belly begging for nourishment.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. “Are you hungry, Harry?” The man hissed circling around him.

Harry didn’t deign to answer, he knew it wasn’t required. Instead he watch the Dark Lord much like the predator he was now. Voldemort touched his finger delicately to the scar on his head. It seared, fizzing to life with a pain that even his new body couldn’t withstand, even though pleasure like nothing he’d ever felt before lanced through him simultaneously. He slid to his knees as Voldemort pressed his finger more firmly into the scar, guiding him there.

“Rise,” Voldemort commanded and the pain died down to a slow simmer. Harry did, and he let Voldemort wrap a pale, slender hand around his throat. “Such a perfect hybrid you appear. So uncannily human, but so far from human now that Dumbledore will never save you. You have been good, my little Horcrux. I shall reward you.”

Harry didn’t flinch when the hand around his throat clenched down tightly before releasing. He wouldn’t die from oxygen starvation anymore, and his body knew it even if he didn’t. “Tell me,” Voldemort began again. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry rasped out. His throat was dry from the awful thirst that had been building since he’d first caught a whiff of the Dark Lord.

“Tell me what it is you crave?”

“You,” Harry whispered without hesitation, though he heard Draco’s bride gasp in shock.

Voldemort smiled a sly, dark smile. “Yes, I suspected you might.”

Harry held the snort back and barely kept from rolling his eyes. He was sure that the man had designed his cravings along with everything else. He was sure no one else’s blood would smell like this. Voldemort would have him totally dependent on him, it would be the only way to ensure he always obeyed, even if Harry fought the seductive lullaby of the magic whispering around the Dark Lord.

Voldemort held a pale wrist over his lips. “Drink, my child. Drink the blood of your Lord and feel blessed in the privilege of it.”

Harry didn’t hesitate, it seemed far too late for that. He bit into the willing flesh, and it parted with a crisp sound, like biting into a fresh apple. Blood, thick and hot welled into his mouth, and he gulped it down hungrily, ravenously. It tasted sweet and heady, and Harry could feel the hidden whispers of Tom Riddle’s past echoing in his blood cells maddeningly. His eyes rolled back in pleasure and he drank until Voldemort hissed and pulled his wrist away.

The Dark Lord looked drunk with power as he hauled Harry to his feet by his thick, glossy-black hair. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’ve officially joined the DeathEaters. I expect you will serve me accordingly, seeing as the gifts I have bestowed on you are quite grand indeed,” he hissed, and kissed Harry’s bloody lips greedily.

When he pulled away Harry gave the man a hungry smile. “I want to hunt now, please.” Voldemort laughed madly and ushered him through the opened doors and onto the balcony of his rooms. 

“Hunt you shall little one,” the man whispered darkly, beckoning him into the night.

No, Harry mused. They hadn’t broken him. Voldemort had shattered him and rebuilt him from the ground up.

~TBC~

I apologize for any errors. I try the best I can myself but I don't have a beta reader so I'm sure I missed something. I hope you enjoy, please leave comments.


	2. Chapter 2

Shattered, Chapter 2

By: Diamonddancer229

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not making money from this fic.

Chapter warnings: Graphic Violence, Adult Language, Gore

 

Chapter 2: The Hunt

 

The woods were alive with Muggles. Harry could hear them and smell them. He knew they were Muggles by their odd lack of magical 'scent', but he didn't have a desire to consume magic at the moment, even if he could sense it shifting inside him. No, he wanted flesh and blood, but he was sure the blood would be lacking after Voldemort's.

He gave one last look back to the Malfoy's, Severus, reserving a long last look for his Master and Lord. Red eyes bored into him. They dared him to try to escape, to leave and simply not come back. Voldemort, too, was a predator. He would enjoy the hunt. Harry turned and plunged the three story drop from the balcony. He landed with a resounding thump on the dewy grass below.

His muscles ached to be released and if he concentrated enough Harry felt the restless shift of fur brushing along his insides, the beast inside scrambling madly as it scented prey in every direction. His enlarged lungs expanded as he savored the smells he drew in. He knew instinctively which way to turn and run into the night to bring him to the weakest and most vulnerable of the humans.

He smiled when he came upon the shuddering form of an obese young adult, roughly his own age. With sandy blonde hair. "Voldemort is treating me I see," Harry cackled in delight, wonderful madness lighting his green eyes on fire. His cousin Dudley turned to face him.

Harry hadn't seen the boy in almost three years now, he realized. Not since the night he had packed his bags and began this journey to return Voldemort's soul shards to their rightful place and perhaps put the man to peace forever. Time had not helped his cousin. He looked remarkable like Vernon Dursley now, with a hint of Petunia hiding around his eyes and tight mouth. He had grown quite large and sloppy over the missed years.

"H-Harry?" Dudley squeaked, his back hitting a tree as he moved away from Harry as Harry stepped forward.

"Dudders, so nice to see you again. It's quite pleasant out tonight isn't it?" Harry didn't know where this unique calm came from. He felt very unlike Harry Potter tonight, but he supposed that was the creatures boiling beneath his skin. He felt beautiful, strong, and utterly unbeatable right now with Voldemort's powerful, dark blood thrumming through his veins. He also felt rather vindictive.

"Harry what's the meaning of this? They've got Mum and Dad out here too somewhere. I'm lost," Dudley moaned wretchedly. He whimpered as a scream echoed through the forest causing the wild life to screech to life momentarily before dying back out as quickly. "I need to find them, Mum hates camping. She's probably terrified to death right now."

"Now that you mention it I can smell that god-awful perfume she used to wear. Tell me something Dudders." Harry tilted his head and closed the final gap between him. "If you had the choice who would you want to live? You, her, or him?" Harry asked the question with such a deadly calm that not even his stupid cousin could miss the implications.

"What do you mean Harry?" Dudley asked anyway. The boy shivered. "Help me find them please Harry. You owe them as much!"

Harry felt the temperature in the air around them plummet sharply, his cousin's breath puffed out in front of him in miniature clouds. "I owe them as much? What an absurd thing to say to the boy your parents kept locked IN A FUCKING CUPBOARD FOR THE FIRST ELEVEN YEARS OF HIS LIFE!" Harry was roaring by the end. His fist flew out and caught Dudley in his jaw. Harry felt bones crunch beneath his hand.

"Owe them?" he ranted. "You are right, I do owe them. Do you want to know what I owe your parents Dudders? Do you want to know what I owe them for the bars on my bedroom window? Or maybe what I intend to reimburse them with for working me like a kitchen slave, and yard boy? Maybe I should tell you what I intend to do to that bitch mother of yours for telling me my parents were alcoholics that crashed off a bridge when I was a babe, or for never once celebrating my birthday."

He had stopped yelling again and he had regained that deadly calm that was so unlike him normally. He stepped forward and leaned his forehead against his cousins trembling chest, and Dudley had the good sense not to move. Harry listened to the fat lump's heart thumping heavily in his chest, fast and frightened. He could smell so much intoxicating fear in the air he might have lost himself and ripped into the flesh before him. He might still do so but for now he had his senses.

He wanted this to be slow. He wanted to repay the years of hate and pain with likewise in a far more concentrated version. He wanted to take Dudley's flesh off one strip at a time and watch his cousin scream and writhe under him. Harry nearly drooled as options filtered through his head.

He started hitting Dudley, a punch for every one he could remember this ham-handed oaf giving him through the years, but he tired of that quickly and reached for his wand. Harry cursed, remembering that he hadn't had a wand since his capture, but he could feel the magic pulsing in his body, coiling in the air, and ready for him to command it. Harry smiled coldly and whispered 'Crucio'. The magic leapt from his fingertips, and it was painful and seared his flesh with white hot heat.

Dudley's screams echoed out in the night, and Harry could hear Muggles stilling like deer caught in headlights throughout the woods. He felt their terror bleeding out into the night, calling other beasts that fed from fear and flesh. He relished the staccato beat of their rapidly pumping hearts. He looked to his feet just as his cousin stopped breathing.

Harry felt the cold chill of a senseless murder run through him. This must have been the fracturing of his soul, he recognized vaguely, with little concern. All he could really think at the moment was that he had managed to kill someone with a Crucio, and he had never heard of that happening before. How much hate he must have inside him, if a proper Crucio was fueled by hatred. Enough to kill a man.

"Fuck. Well, that was anti climatic. Pardon me for cutting this session short, dear cousin. I'm afraid I have underestimated my strength." Harry only paused momentarily over the thought before he sprang back into action and off into the night. He would think on it later, he would grieve on the death of his old self when he had proper time and adequate safety from prying eyes. For now he wanted only to ease this unearthly, cursed thirst.

Vernon was next, and he came across the fat useless man huffing heavily as he stumbled through the woods bellowing for Petunia and Dudley. Harry chuckled, and darted out of site effortless when his Uncle spun to face the sound.

"Who's there? You won't get away with this!" Vernon threatened. Somewhere off to his left Harry snickered and spun from view again. Vernon crashed his way through the underbrush, taking off running as fast as he could. Harry stayed behind him, snapping twigs, laughing, never letting Vernon see him as he manipulated the muggle in whatever direction he particularly felt like.

Vernon did not run too far before he lost his footing and crashed to the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. His uncle stayed there gasping for long moments before he could work up more protests. "Who's there? You can't do this to me! Where is my family? Take me to them now!"

Harry stepped into a shaft of bright moonlight then, finally allowing Vernon to see his pursuer. Vernon choked and turned an ugly purple. Harry always seemed to draw that particular shade of anger from the man. "Hello Uncle Vernon," Harry stood still, unearthly so when he choose to draw no breath.

"Harry? What are you doing here boy? Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

Harry looked down at himself, and pondered were he had lost the loose robes he been draped in when he woke up. He was covered in dirt and blood from invisible scratches that had healed as soon as he ripped through the brambly underbrush, during his chase. "I don't know, now that you mention it," he answered with a shrug. "What are you doing here, is the better question Uncle. This forest belongs to a wizard of my acquaintance you might say. I belong here Uncle, here you are the freak, the 'odd' man out, so-to-speak."

Vernon trembled at the coldness of his tone, at the hidden and not so hidden implications laced within. "We were kidnapped boy! I always knew the Potters were nothing but bad luck waiting to happen. If they hadn't threatened us into keeping you we'd have sent out right along to the next in line! Argh-"

Harry didn't let Vernon finish his rant, he leapt at him, landing on the man and knocking him to the ground in an angry heap. His nails dug into the skin he could see. Vernon screamed, and he kicked and fought, but Harry held his large weight pinned down with so much effortless ease, that he found himself laughing madly even as he dug scores of his Uncle's flesh off with his vicious claws.

Harry didn't stop until Vernon was a gurgling, bloody mess beneath his nails, no longer able to beg. The man shuddered against him, seizing and choking, blood bubbling from his ruined and torn throat. Harry leaned forward, and looked Vernon intently in his eyes. He'd left them untouched so Vernon could watch the terrible monster that he had a hand in making just by sheer neglect.

"If you had only took me in and loved me this could have been different, Uncle. I would have protected you until the day I died, but instead you helped bred this hatred in me. You see Uncle Vernon, Muggles like you, Muggles that are terrified of everything they can't control, and can't understand, you made this decision so much easier for me."

Harry could feel the unhealthy heart pounding slowly and laboriously beneath his palm. It was perilously close to stopping completely. "I want you to die knowing that I murdered your son, Vernon. Your precious Dudley is beginning to rot even as we speak. It's hot out, I'll wager he will even have maggots feasting on him by the morning.

When you die, I'm going after Petunia. It's going to be the worst for her, that's why I saved her for last. She was my mother's sister. She should have protected and loved me because we shared the same blood. She betrayed me in a way no mother should ever betray a child, and I was the son of her sister. I will be most unkind to her. I will torture her till the sun rises tomorrow morning, and I want you to know that."

Vernon gurgled loudly and one ruined lump of a hand that had been taken off during Harry's temper tantrum, rose his eyes wide and pleading. His heart beat faster under Harry's hand, in desperate panic for his wife and son's fates. The faster his heart pumped the faster the blood oozed from his mangled flesh, and it wasn't long before his fat body trembled and shuddered and finally died, terror reflected in his glazed eyes as they stared up at the dark sky.

Harry rose. He trembled as he felt that odd little shiver of coldness, and suddenly realized the sensation was the soul departing from his Uncle. He could feel it because he had somewhat of a Dementor in him. Surely they could sense souls. He felt the odd urge to reach out with his magic and stop Vernon's black soul from rising, he was sure he could trap it here, like a Dementor's Kiss, his Uncle forever caught in the purgatory that lost souls went to.

He did not though. He really didn't want to taint his magic by swallowing the thing, if that was indeed what could and would happen. So instead, he left it to rise and the slight chill left him, but didn't really. His own soul, if he had one now, was damaged, and it was wearing on him, this unusual carnage that he had sunk to so quickly. He was a beast on a rampage; pain, anger and rage were building in him. There was one more left, and he hadn't lied just for Vernon's sake, he would make her beg and plead for his forgiveness before he granted her death. Then, and only then, would this rage be quenched.

Petunia walked up on Harry waiting for her. He had Dudley strung up in a tree with his still steaming innards. Vernon's weight could not be supported and as such Harry had just propped him against the tree, and shaped his mutilated face into the rictus of a smile. Then he simply sent a mild compulsion to call his Aunt to him.

Her scream pierced the night and sent night time creatures, like rabbits and raccoons, scampering away from them. Harry dropped from his perch in the tree, where he had relaxed after hanging his cousin. His body was covered in blood with small creature attributes transforming specific parts of his anatomy.

His hands were dangerous weapons with his hard, steel-like, razor sharp claws. His mouth a pit of wicked teeth. His legs had lengthened and bent awkwardly at a bizarre angles, canine in appearance. He found it easy to run with his enhanced limbs though. His cock was monstrous and large and throbbed, bulging out from his body even though he did not feel particularly aroused.

Whatever he looked like, he was sure it was a terrifying mess of odd lethal parts. Harry was designed to be a weapon, and hadn't this always been his fate in life? At least Voldemort was honest in his use of Harry.

His Aunt stared mutely from Harry's bloody form, to the bodies of her wasted family. "What have you done?" She shrieked suddenly into the night. Harry was sure if she had a frying pan she'd be aiming it at his head. "Oh! Dudders, my Duddlykins! What have you done to them you freak! What have you done?" She kept screaming.

Harry laughed in delight, feeling so fully disconnected from everything but this moment for sweet, unpunishable revenge. Every fantasy he had ever had he could act out here, Voldemort expected it, and Harry was hungry on so many levels from this prospect of hurting Petunia.

She flung herself at him, and hit him with her tiny fists, which he barely felt now. She couldn't hurt him now, his skin really was too thick. She slapped him around his face, and he laughed some more only because it made his Aunt that much madder. She was frantic in her anger, and it made her heart skitter in her fragile chest.

Harry slapped her, and the sound of it echoed through the forest like a gunshot. Petunia fell clasping her jaw, which was hanging at an awkward angle. She remained silent then and slightly dazed. "Why?" she gasped.

Harry sneered and found himself mad enough that he wanted to snap her neck and end this now. "You know why, I know you know why. Do not try to deny your crimes. I've come to collect for them."

Harry circled her, and she watched him warily, trembling every now and then as blood tricked from her nose and lip. "How could you hate her so much you could treat a baby like you did Petunia? How could you treat a child of your own blood like that? Like a servant, you treated me like a bloody servant from the time I could stand and reach the sink and stove."

Harry roared and lashed out at the pitiful, bitter woman in front of him. "You were always jealous of her but yet you called me a freak. You called us freaks because you wanted to be like us and nothing you did could ever make you that way. You locked me in a cupboard and called me a freak the entire first decade of my life. I never knew love, never knew so much as a simple act of kindness."

Harry stood from where he was crouched and he heard Petunia hiss in front and smelled urine as she wet herself. Her anger and shock was wearing off and the reality of her own position was setting in. "Please, Harry you must understand how they tricked us, forced us into taking you. They told us it was the only way to keep that madman from coming for us next, He Who Must Not Be Name. We wanted nothing to do with you wizards and your strange ways."

Harry laughed again and stood. He raised a hand and felt his magic well up, waiting for his command. "Excoriāre."* Petunia screamed as a thin strip of skin almost an inch wide tore from her back and began to rise and wind through the air like some grotesque, snakelike, skin-viper. It follow Harry's fingers through the air as he orchestrated his Aunt's absolute agony.

"You told me my parents were alcoholics that killed themselves in a drunken car accident. You let that fat lump you call a son beat me up, use me like a fucking punching bag, and keep me from making a single friend. You told everybody I was a bloody psycho miscreant. You worked me from sun-up to sun-down, and you never once thought it prudent to celebrate my birthday properly once. Just a fucking cake would have made me happy, a cake with a bloody fucking candle would have given me something to hold onto to. To hope for, but you couldn't even give me that could you?"

Harry stopped and he panted angrily. "You locked a child in a fucking cupboard and starved him. Don't worry though Petunia, that boy, that freak, is dead."

Petunia was all exposed muscles and tendons within the hour, but Harry cast stasis charms, and clarity of mind enchantments to keep her alive and conscious. "Next," Harry whispered as the last strip of skin tore loose with a squelching sound and a hoarse, weak cry from his Aunt.

"Detraxi"* Petunia's muscles quivered sickly, and Harry grasped his magic and directed it on a grander scheme, to cut her muscles from bones, to pull them lose and free, spreading her gore around the tiny clearing. She was shaking and seizing much like Vernon had before he had drawn his last breath.

He reached out and touched the weakly beating heart he could see in the chamber of her ribs, and breastbone. She moaned. Blood bubbled from the corners of her mouth. "I always wondered if you had a heart Aunt Petunia. Funny, I imagined it would be black."

He growled and twisted his hand around the hard organ, crushing it, squeezing blood from its chambers. He broke her ribs in a rage. He felt her spirit depart and did nothing. He had murdered his only link to his Muggle life, the last of his family, if they could ever be called that.

He felt sick for a moment but Harry was nothing if not resilient. He rose and turned in the direction of the manor. He knew simply because he was connected to Voldemort through blood, magic, and creation, and he could feel the man waiting there. He was the man's Frankenstein. The past was over and this was a new chapter in his crazy nightmare of a life.

 

~

 

Harry knelt in the early morning dew, exhausted and full of flesh and blood. He was covered in the tacky, reddish-brown fluid from his victims, the Dursleys. His muscles ached lightly from his night, but that was fast fading as he made his way back up the steeper incline to the forest beside the Malfoy's Manor. He sighed when the hill finally stopped rising and he stepped onto even ground and saw the Manor rising ahead in the gloomy dawn.

He walked steadily eyes focused on the sight of his Dark Lord, standing on the third floor balcony that looked over this side of the house, but not the same balcony he had leapt from earlier. The man was waiting for him to appear from the mist, Harry was sure he couldn't be seen, but he wasn't so sure the Dark Lord couldn't sense him the way he could sense the man like a glaring dark star on the bright horizon of the morning.

Harry's focus broke momentarily, right when the sun actually broke over the distant horizon. He flinched and screamed as his blood boiled, but it was momentary, and then gone. Perhaps, a momentary hiccup in his newly developed genetic makeup, or the reactive instincts within his blood. He continued his trek up to the house.

He could have flown up to the balcony, but he chose to scale the Manor wall instead. A new pressure was building in the pit of his gut, when his eyes first met his Lord's and saw his pleasure in Harry's apparently easy acceptance of this new life, in his revelry at shedding the last of his family's blood, and the last of his connections to that Muggle world.

Harry felt the cool burn of his muscles as his creature sight directed him from one handhold to the next, and carried him over the rail of the balcony in little time. Voldemort stood still at the edge, looking at him as Harry hoisted himself up and perched like a fallen angel on the ledge of the rail. He was pleased with Harry, and he showed it with a crooked smile.

"Harry, did you have fun?"

Harry nodded and slid his legs over the rail settling his feet on the marble balcony. He was nearly as tall as Voldemort as a creature, and it was odd enough meeting the man nearly eye for eye. "You ensured it didn't you, my Lord?"

"Never say that I am an unkind, greedy Lord to those that serve me well and faithfully."

"Have I served you well then, my Lord?" Harry whispered as a delicious and dark chill went through him. Harry stepped forward and dropped to his knees. It caused more than a few of his instincts to rear their head at his subservience, but these many months it had become an ingrained habit.

Voldemort shivered and placed a hand on his head. "That you have," the elder man hissed as his fist tightened in Harry's hair. "You have served me more faithfully and purposefully than any of my Death Eaters thus far. You have gathered the pieces of my soul and held them close to you in safety. Because of that I can restore myself from some of the madness the splitting of my soul has caused."

Harry smirked and felted the dried blood on his cheeks flake and fall, the sensation tickling his cheeks. "I think it will restore your former body, though you should practice talking this form. It can be quite intimidating."

Voldemort chuckled. He brushed a pale, spidery hand across Harry's brow. "Yes, I have put much thought into it. I believe I will still be able to take this form, but I will regain my devilishly handsome good looks." He paused and gave Harry a puzzling look. "You've never been much intimidated by either of my forms, if I recall correctly."

"Well, it's not like I was ever given proper time to work myself up to terror. I was always fighting, I always have been, way before I ever got that blasted letter to Hogwarts. I have been running, and standing my ground, and fighting for my life my entire life. I guess by the time your rise rolled around I was pretty well jaded."

"Yes, I gathered as much from the memories I stole from your Muggle relations. It is remarkable how similar we are, I wonder if given enough time you could have been persuaded to join my side freely?"

Harry snorted even as he knelt of the cold marble, white fingers twisted cruelly in his hair. "This is the only way I would have joined you," Harry swore fervently, but he really wasn't as sure. "I would never have agreed otherwise. You had to do this to me, you had to corrupt me and bring my darkness to the fore."

Voldemort tsked, "Truly? How can you believe as much when it took so little to convince you to alter the very fabric that makes you, you? You all but drank that potion to become my hybrid creature, my Dark Treasure. I may have threatened you Harry, but I find that your resistance was sorely lacking considering what I asked of you."

"I was tired of being your plaything, passed from one to the other as you see fit."

"You are still my plaything," Voldemort cackled releasing Harry's hair and pulling him to his feet by magic, so that the boy was eye level with him again. "I command, and you will still answer me."

"You are my Lord are you not, that is the conditions we agreed to. I can see the futility in fighting you in the grand scheme of things. Will you allow me the freedom of choosing my lovers? Aside from yourself of course?"

Voldemort's face looked conflicted as he thought on what Harry said. He was a jealous Lord, and he was greedy with his things, even if he claimed not to be. Voldemort grabbed his chin and turned his face from side-to-side. "So be it, have your fun while you are young. There will come a time when I will ask for your faithfulness yet though."

Harry smiled at the vague threat and nodded. "Very well then, my Lord." Harry pulled his chin away from Voldemort and turned to the French doors leading to the bedroom of Voldemort's suite of rooms. It may have been presumptuous but Voldemort was tracking him with a bestial interest, all but licking his chops to see how far he had brought the Golden Boy down.

Harry turned his head and caught Voldemort's eye when he reached the doors. It was a coy look he sent the man, and the Dark Lord's eyes flared hotly as he watched Harry moved across the space. "Come to bed my Lord, let me show you just how faithfully I can serve you for the gifts you have bestowed me."

Voldemort had never followed anyone as easily.

 

~

 

It certainly was no shock to the Death Eaters when Harry Potter joined them at the Malfoy's long dining table the next morning, but it was a shock when he stepped into the dining room, instead of crawled. It was also a great shock to most that he was clad in the finest robes of the season, order from the Malfoy's special tailor.

Harry Potter was dressed impeccably in crisp, white, Egyptian linen shirt. The sleeves were rolled neatly up to his elbows. His collar was deep and stiff, but he had left the buttons open exposing a length of his pale neck and the dip of his sternum. He had forgone the deep forest green cravat that had been laid with the suit, but his waist coat was of a matching color, and the darker green made his eyes that much more of a luminous, poisonous green. His pants were made of a black dragon hide so fine and soft it felt like the buttery smooth linen of his shirt. His shoes were plain and black, and he had shined them nicely with a spell he had learned for the Yule Ball in fourth year.

He had no need for glasses, and thus his strange, alien-green eyes met the curious stares of the Death Eaters. He smiled at them, as he sauntered by, now taller than the majority of them. His smile made more than a few of them shudder, he supposed his fangs might do that and he hadn't bothered to glamour them away. Let them fear him, he would have his revenge on them too, eventually. What did they mean in the grand scheme of things? They were mere pawns, Voldemort only held a very few of them here in high enough regard to make them more than expendable chess pieces.

Lucius motioned him over to a spot to the direct left of him, before Narcissa's seat. He pulled the chair out and sat down fluidly ignoring the low murmur of gossip, all of which he could clearly make out without even trying. A thick, tall, glass goblet appeared in front of his empty plate as soon as he had finished laying his napkin across his lap. It was filled to the brim with a thick and viscous red fluid, and he knew immediately it was blood from a live victim. He wondered where it had been procured, but shrugged and gulped it down a little too greedily for politeness. It wasn't Voldemort's but it provided quick sustenance, and he felt energy wash through his limbs.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he apologized to Narcissa at her aghast stare. "I'm afraid I was rather parched." He could hear the others further down the table questioning the contents of his glass as others confirmed they had sighted his fangs when he had come in. They were thrown off by the fact that he sat calmly in the midst of a slash of sunlight that slanted across the table, from the large windows along the wall. If he were a vampire, would he not burst into flames?

Harry was enjoying their obvious confusion. Delighting in the electric thrill of their curiosity, in denying them a suitable answer. Voldemort burst through the doors angrily dragging Wormtail behind him, his magical arm shackled behind him with his regular one. Voldemort cursed him enough to make him wail twice before the man made it up onto his low rise dais before the long table, to speak to the gathered crowd.

Harry felt the tickle of an unspoken order brush across his mind. 'Come, stand below me on the dais.' Half of Harry's body obeyed and the other half rebelled and for a minute he was caught oddly in between. He stepped forward when the tickle became an overwhelming pressure in his head. "My Lord," he murmured kneeling on the step before he took the position Voldemort desired. It pleased he man.

"Welcome DeathEaters. I have a very special present for tonight's new initiates. Peter Pettigrew." Voldemort paused after his name pulling the man forward with magic. "Mr. Pettigrew has made an overly egregious that has caused me more strife than any of you can begin to imagine. He is to be punished for his mistakes, and then executed. Let it be known that when the Dark Lord gives you a task, I expect it to be carried out to the fullest measure of finality."

Pettigrew squeaked and twisted in his magical bonds. "Please my Lord, I be-gahhh," he was silenced with a gag, and his mouth closed up causing the man to panic and breath harshly through his nose.

"We shall have contest amongst my new members. We shall see who has the nastiest Crucio." Voldemort chuckled sinisterly. "Now, bring them forward Lucius."

Lucius bowed from his place in the front and began weaving through the crowd that had rose from their dinner when Voldemort had burst in, gathering black robed figures from the lower rankings at the end of the table. He gathered a total of seven before Harry found the blonde smirking in front of him. Lucius had a thick ritual black robe draped over his arm and he handed it to Harry with a charming smile.

Lucius placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push forward. No one said anything, and judging by the heavy oppressive magic building around the four corners of the room and swirling inward with a tense, purposeful feel, it was wise not to speak. Harry could feel Voldemort's magic heeding the man's unspoken incantations.

The initiates were lined up, much like Harry had lined up that first day in Hogwarts for his sorting. He would be marked as Voldemort's truly. He would take the Dark Mark on his arm, bear that pain, and his place in this war would be finalized. He met Voldemort's eyes from the back of the line, and they stood staring at each other for many moments before Harry nodded and smiled, a little too eagerly.

 

~

 

I'm not a Latin scholar so I really just took some basic Latin words and used them as spells. Hope you enjoy leave a review! Thanks!

*excoriāre- Latin for flay, strip (of skin)

*detraxi- drag, pull, strip, extract, cut out


	3. Chapter 3

**Shattered, Chapter 3**

By: Diamonddancer229

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, and I’m not making money from this fic.

Chapter warnings: Graphic Violence, Adult Language, Sexual Behavior, Cross-dressing

**Chapter 3: Games**

Harry smiled when the first initiate began screaming. He found it fitting, because he hated Voldemort’s many faceless followers, in their nondescript plain white mask. Except the Malfoys, Lucius’s mask was made from finely wrought mythril, Narcissa’s of fine pearl and Draco’s was made from silver metal. Lucius’s was ornately made, and befitted the man. It was leafed with gold, a scene depicting an ancient hunt.

There were of course, a few others fit enough to have a mask bestowed upon them by Voldemort. Bellatrix had a mask that looked as if had been stitched together with an odd assortment of skins. Some patches were pale, some tan, and a little black around specific areas like the eyes. Severus had a mask made from something that looked incredibly like bloodstone, though Harry had felt it, it was as lite as a feather and never grew warm and uncomfortable against the skin. The Lestrange brothers both had mask made from human skulls. The bone had been carefully spelled to fit their faces. They were a fright to see coming in a fight.

They had all been gifted these mask for their exemplary services to the Dark Lord, in one way or the other. Harry wondered if he’d get a special mask or if he’d have to start from the bottom, and wear one of those despicable, boring masks. Another scream tore him from his musing, and he realized it was the boy in front of him.

The lad looked to be fresh from school, no more than nineteen at the most. He had collapsed the second the Dark Lord had pressed the tip of his wand sharply into his bared forearm, and he was screaming still as the Dark Lord swept past him moments later and moved to stand in front of Harry with a sharp, serpentine smile.

“My little Horcrux, we must do things differently with you I am afraid. I have plans in store for you, further into the year, and we need those arms bare. Alas, I will be branding you!” Voldemort spun him around by the collar of his robes and ripped them free of his body as he whirled around. He was stopped by Lucius, of whom he hadn’t even notice step up behind him.

Lucius smiled cruelly and gathered the fine shirt Harry had been provided. He ripped this from Harry, and Harry registered it as the silent challenge it was, he growled at Lucius. The sound reverberated around the room. Lucius was showing him, in the manner that Lucius did best, that he wasn’t afraid of the thing Harry was or deterred from his pleasure in tormenting Harry in the most sensual of ways. Lucius leaned forward and growled right back, the sound soft and deadly against his ear. The vibrations washed through him in an entirely new way, a more profound way. He became incredibly aroused as Lucius smiled at him knowingly.

Had he known how hard Lucius was trying to distract him from the pain that would come next, he might have encourage the man further, but he could sense the slight prickle of green jealous leeching from the Dark Lord. He shoved Lucius away, and looked over his shoulder meeting crimson eyes. “Do it!” He demanded.

Voldemort tilted his head slightly, an odd look passing only briefly before the tip of his wand touched the back of Harry’s neck, right at the base. Harry’s head snapped forward straight and his body locked up in shock at the first lance of pain. It was slick and cold and stinging, like Voldemort had stabbed him with a frozen stiletto there, sliding it between vertebra and into his spinal column to paralyze him. Harry couldn’t move, even as every creature he owned reared angrily in his head, his body was trapped in the onslaught of excruciating pain.

The pain trickled downward, it felt like blood slicking down his back in a hot fresh wave. The wand never moved but Harry was sure he could feel the Mark being etched into his back, the entirety of his back. Much larger than the others Death Eater’s brands. Harry clenched his jaws and refused to scream. His fangs pierced his bottom lips as they lengthened, Harry fell forward, and that bloody wand never broke contact with his neck. It seemed like hours Harry had to endure the agony of invisible blades of magic cutting Voldemort’s calling card into him, but eventually it stopped.

Harry was allowed only a moment, the space of a few breathes at most, before Lucius was pulling him up. Harry was briefly comforted by the scent of his expensive cologne, and let his head lull against the man’s neck as he leaned against him. He had the deep urge to bite the man.

Voldemort was raising something that Harry could only vaguely recognized as being red and sparkling because the pain had blurred his vision and he had yet to recover. It was placed against his face, and it was cool against his feverish skin. It was light and had a charm that activated when it was pressed to the flesh of the face, and Harry realized it was his mask.

Voldemort smiled and held a large handheld mirror up. Harry noticed the crowd was dispersing into the waiting ballroom. They would be feasting, drinking, and celebrating for the rest of the night.  His eyes finally settled on his face and a small gasp manage to escape him. His mask was formed from a thin, brilliantly-red layer of rubies. He could tell Voldemort had spent an incredible amount of magic and time in it, as well as a good deal of thought. A thin band of dark, burnished gold was worked into the image of the snake swallowing its tail, an Ouroboros. It wound around the outer edge of the mask accenting it perfectly. There was also a small golden lightning bolt, laying directly over Harry’s, and though it was an incredibly foolish and bold embellishment, Harry thought it was beautiful.

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hardly recognized the wild green eyes that popped against the color of the masked. He hardly recognized the boy that stood there at all. He was at once both a terribly beautiful creature and a hideous monster. He licked his bleeding lips and watched his reflection do the same.

Voldemort was incredibly patient with him during this more private moment of recovery. He summoned Snape with a salve and a pain potion, though they were not sure Harry wouldn’t metabolize them too fast for them to do any good. He was still thankful nonetheless so he said as much. Voldemort inclined his head a bit, and Harry was sure the man wasn’t used to freely given thanks, not the kind that wasn’t coerce out of someone by threats and fear.

Harry waved his wand and his magic meshed smoothly with Voldemort’s magic that had transfigured a plate to the mirror still in the man’s hands. It transformed smoothly into three much larger mirrors that formed a semicircle him and he turned to admire Voldemort’s brand on his back. He gawked as soon as he saw the design. It wasn’t your average Dark Mark. It wasn’t really a Dark Mark so much as the portrait of Tom Riddle’s life.

It was an entire scene, a collage of Voldemort, though it was more fitting to call this a piece of Tom Riddle shining through. The centerpiece was a skull swallowing not a snake but a timepiece. The time piece seemed to be counting years instead of hours. It rested in the center of a globe around which the figure of young Tom was traversing through what seemed to be particularly momentous accomplishments, and discoveries.

In the outer empty spaces the centerpiece of the tattoo was not taking up, the likeness of a restlessly coiling Nagini slide around his back, circling the image of Tom protectively. Harry could have stared for hours, watched this abbreviated version of Tom’s life pass by, showing him exactly what had made Voldemort the man he was. Perhaps that had been Voldemort’s intention. Harry wanted to think of this not just as a branding but as maybe something far more significant. A small concession for the feelings Voldemort may have been developing. Harry smiled.

“It’s beautiful. It’s a work of art,” he praised Voldemort.

Voldemort sneered, but Harry could see the pleasure flash in crimson eyes briefly. “Is it?” He smiled meanly. “One would think you would chafe at the sight of my mark of ownership.”

Harry shivered at his tone, but didn’t rise to the bait. Voldemort was embarrassed Harry had picked up on the meaning of this gift. He hadn’t given Harry the same ugly, generic mark as everyone else. He had set Harry apart as being someone noteworthy. Someone a bit above the rest. Harry had never had someone show him such favor. Except maybe Dumbledore when the man had been leading him to an untimely death. Voldemort had made him immortal, and set him apart from the commoners.

“I like it all the same,” he whispered a little reverently. “No matter what you may call it.”

“Pardon me, Master,” an elf name Skipsy bowed low. “Mistress Narcissy say dinner is served at sevens sharpish, and that there should be no excuses for latenesses, Sirs!”

Lucius chuckled and shared a humorous glance with the Dark Lord. “Very well, we shall be there a seven sharp, Skipsy. Do tell Narcissa that is in bad form to rush the Master of the house and his honored guests, the Dark Lord and his Consort.”

Harry’s eyes widened even as he was led from the room by a gentle but firm hand at his back. Lucius. “Consort?” He looked back at Voldemort. “What does he mean your Consort?”

Voldemort grinned nastily. “Never fear, _Love_ , warm whose bed you will, but know that here in my Kingdom all know you as mine. It’s for you protection, of course. The knowledge was issued with a secrecy vow. All who have heard it can never tell of it or else they die. Simple really. I’m not ready for Dumbledore and his precious Order to know that you are mine though. We will discuss that when the plans have progressed a little further.”

Harry was insulted and a little amused. “I am rather hungry,” he blurted when they came upon the banquet hall. He could see largest table he’d ever seen in his life and it was laden with more food than Hogwarts on the Welcoming Day Feast.

Lucius chuckled and leaned over to nip Harry’s ear, Harry gasped as Voldemort gave the blonde a stern glance, but complained no more. The Dark Lord walked to the empty head of the table and sat, he beckoned Harry to sit at his left, and Harry thought that was a place of honor so he smiled, pleased.

Lucius sat to the empty seat on his left, and Narcissa was there on his right. Draco was smiling across the table, directly in front of Harry. He was swirling his half empty wine glass around lazily, and it was obvious he was a few in already. He didn’t often hang on Harry when he hadn’t been gifted Harry’s time by the Dark Lord himself, and he normally respected the Dark Lord’s presence by not touching or flirting in front of Voldemort when he was there. Tonight it seemed he was too drunk to care.

Harry smiled charmingly his way, then slide a look to Astoria who was too young to have the same composure Narcissa did yet. Sometimes her jealousy showed through, whether because Malfoy had a school boy love for Potter or because Malfoy had a teenage boy’s perpetual everlasting erection, but only for Harry. Harry had no intention of taking the useless little twit into his bed voluntarily now. The youngest Malfoy just did nothing for him. 

He turned to Draco’s Father instead, glad that he could slight the boy that had tormented him in school, the boy partially responsible for his capture to begin with. He leaned towards the man as Voldemort discussed something or other with Snape who sat to his direct right. “Lucius,” he purred, not that he needed to distract Lucius’s attention from his wife or the talk circulating around the room.

Lucius leaned back into him, his attention had been glued to Harry since his change. He was always watching, Harry noticed in his peripheral. Lucius loved beautiful and dangerous things. Harry surmised he was triply attractive now that he was the Dark Lord’s consort, and a beautiful, dangerous thing. Harry liked that Lucius didn’t have that delicious hint of terror to his smell though. Maybe with Lucius he could still play like the scared, trembling human boy.

“Yes, Harry?”

Harry smiled coyly, and lower his thick black lashes. “Perhaps after dinner, we could play a game?”

“Ah, a game? What kind of game would you like to play?”

“The kind where you tell me what kind of game we are going to play,” Harry left little question what he meant, but a whole world of unspoken suggestions in his voice.

Lucius, a Master at games, these games especially, barely lifted the corner of his lips in a smile which was a small concession to Harry in his pleasure at being asked. “Meet me in my private study tonight after Pettigrew is dealt with. I am sure the Dark Lord expects you to win his little contest.” Lucius pressed a finger against Harry’s plump lower lip briefly, his eyes lingered there, before he pulled away and situated himself with all the poise a Malfoy could muster.

Harry chuckled wanting to follow him but he resisted. Odd, that this man that and his Master had spent months torturing, raping, and humiliating Harry and here he was free and all too ready to jump straight back into bed with them. Well, just these particular two he thought. He looked down the table at the others wondering if there were any others he would choose now that he was free to do so. It did no good at the moment though, his lust was strong enough he was sure it was one of his hungers beginning to gnaw and he. That lust found itself solely focused on the blonde beside him.

Harry leaned forward and snatched the goblet of blood before him up without thought, but found it summoned from his fingers. Voldemort was vanishing the contents and Harry found it hard to hold the snarl he wanted to release, until he noticed the sharp tip of Voldemort’s fingernail poised to prick the beating pulse point in his wrist. Blood spurted into the cup, and Harry was suddenly much focused on the man, and the delicious smell wafting off of him.

He leaned forward and eagerly snatched his cup back when it was presented to him and he tried to sip it politely so he could also savor it. The taste of it was etched to vividly in his mind, with startling clarity. So he gulped it down rather quickly, and he even slid his fingers around the stained inside of his cup as his questing fingers sought out the very last drop. He was still staring at Voldemort avidly when he finally settled down, Lucius promptly forgotten, if only for the moment. He smiled. “Thank you, my Lord. You are too kind.” He paid little attention to the slightly murmurs of excitement that spanned the length of the table.

 

 

 

 

 

The initiates were gathering around the now brightly lit room they had come from earlier. Wormtail was roped to a large iron eyelet that Voldemort had transfigured from the ordinary stone there. He was shaking badly and his nose twitched oddly every now and then. Harry hissed at him in the spirit of meanness. “I’m going to hurt you,” he whispered loudly enough the rat could hear. “I’m going to hurt you for every year Sirius spent miserable and alone in that hellhole.” Harry smiled when he was finished with his threat.

Voldemort chuckled as he moved to take a seat in the center of the dais. “We shall go in the same order you were initiated. You have one turn each, cast the curse as strongly, and for as long a duration that the caster can possible carry. I do hope you have all have been practicing your curses, I have a rather fine prize for the winner.”

A buzz of slightly drunk excitement flared as the DeathEaters gathered around the few participating. Harry hadn’t noticed the first initiate until now. It was hard to miss Blaise Zabini anywhere. He was much taller than Harry remembered from school, and he had filled out magnificently. His dark chocolate, nearly black hair was styled up off the front of his face, the top magnificently rumpled. Almost like he’d just gotten out of bed, but artful. The bottom was combed back naturally behind his ears, like he might have casually brushed it back with his fingers. He had a deliciously sinful line of dark stubble down the length of his strong jaw and over his thin upper lip. His bottom lip was lush and a dark coral pink. His smile was sinful, his body was top quality, displayed well in a Muggle designer suit made by someone called _Armandi, Arminki_ , maybe _Armondo_? Harry knew nothing about Muggle or Wizard fashions.

Harry purred and watched the tall slender boy step forward his wand held loosely in his partially raised right hand. He felt the surge of magic even before he saw the hateful disdain spark behind cruel black eyes, the juice, and the lifeblood of the curse. “Crucio!” Blaise shouted suddenly, flourishing his wand like a knife. The spell flared and erupted from the tip of the boy’s wand and to Harry it looked like a malevolent arc of red lightning reaching across the room to slam into Peter Pettigrew. He wonder why he’d never seen it like this before.

Blaise smiled sadistically when Pettigrew screamed and fell to the floor, convulsing. Harry was impressed, especially when the first minute flew by, and then another and another, until Blaise finally cast a non-verbal finite incantem with a wave of his arm. Pettigrew, lay wheezing on the floor as the Blaise bowed gracefully to the crowd as they applauded them. Even, Voldemort inclined his head in recognition of his well-cast and controlled spell.

Harry waited until Blaise moved off from the main crowd and followed him. “Blaise Zabini, my you certainly changed since I last saw you.”

Harry could see the edge of Blaise’s brilliant white smile as he turned to face him. “Harry Potter, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Harry laughed. “I suppose it could be.”

“I can’t believe I’m standing here with you and you’re the Consort of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore would flip his lid. You know, they all think you’re dead. Severus is set to become the officially recognized Headmaster of Hogwarts, with Voldemort slowly taking over the Ministry it will be no time before he is. It certainly was a rather bizarre year without everything that normally happens around you.”

“Are your saying you missed me?” Harry narrowed his eyes when Blaise licked his lips suddenly.

Blaise had a voice like melted honey, and a laugh warm and sweet like butterscotch. “I suppose I could be,” he whispered, though every now and then he sent nervous glances at Voldemort.

Harry laughed throatily, and the tone of it did indeed attract the man’s attention. Both Voldemort and Lucius were watching the two of them avidly now. Harry brushed a curl that had worked its way lose from Blaise’s forehead. The boy’s hair was thick with a coarseness to it, but it still managed to be soft. Harry like the texture of it. “Don’t worry,” he said to Blaise, as he gave the men a saucy wink and turned his attention back to the Italian.

“It would be quite reckless not to worry a bit, Harry. I am a Slytherin after all.” Blaise seemed to gather his composure and focus fully on Harry too. “I’ve heard so much about you though. Draco is all but obsessed. I’m so glad we’ve finally graduated and I don’t have to listen to him bemoan not having you anymore. He nearly drove us all mad after your capture, and don’t get me started on the first time he actually had you.”

Harry shuddered making Blaise laugh. “God, I figured Malfoy would be a badass, but he’s really pretty vanilla. I hated those _visits_.”

“I can imagine. I hear you seemed to like Malfoy Senior’s wicked charms though?” Blaise had the faraway look like he was deep in a memory. Harry realized Zabini spoke from experience and he grinned.

“Lucius can be quite charming. Tell me Blaise, did he dress you up like a strumpet and make you play the sophisticated whore, or did you enjoy some of the more sadistic treats he has to offer.”

Blaise sighed dreamily and glanced at the blonde man. He grinned and to Harry said, “He was my first. First man anyway, and I’m a flaming homosexual, so I am really not counting Fleur Delacour, my actual first. Right proud I seduce her though, out of all those other guys at Hogwarts.”

“Fleur?” Harry had thought he hadn’t been attracted to Fleur because he was desperately crushing on Cho Chang, but the truth was he was sure he had been barking up the wrong tree too. Unfortunately, he was being chased by a lunatic and led along like a helpless pup by Dumbledore, at that time. He never really got to go through all the normal experimenting. Before his capture his past romantic escapades was a pathetic attempt to kiss a crying girl.

Blaise touched his cheek gently before dropping his hand. “I hear you have chosen to warm Lucius bed tonight?”

Harry liked that Blaise was just direct enough to ask such a bold question. He also liked that the Slytherin was smart enough to add that Harry had _chosen_ to the beginning of the statement. “Yes, that’s true. Though, I’m not sure about the bed. I’ll probably be warming the top of his desk. We’ve never made too much use of a bed.”

“There are so many other far more creative options aren’t there?” Blaise chuckled watching Harry with the intentness of a hawk. Harry could smell the lust washing off of him quite suddenly.

“Yes, especially with use of such a magnificent manor.” Harry was very nearly kissing Blaise’s perfectly luscious mouth when his name was suddenly called and pain flared in his back.

“Voldemort has called you twice Harry,” Severus muttered coming out of the slightly confused crowd.

“My apologies, it was nice seeing you Blaise.”

“As it was nice seeing you Harry. Pity you already have a previous engagement. Perhaps you’ll get in touch again? Send me an owl sometimes.” Blaise gave him a rather heated look as Harry walked away and up to the quivering lump of Pettigrew.

“Ah, Peter,” Harry whispered, and the temperature around him plummeted sharply, Blaise and his hormones pushed aside for the moment. “The Betrayer, my devious little Secret Keeper, I have been looking forward to this for so, so long.” As Harry spoke his breath puffed out in front of him and his wild hair tossed from the rather chilly breeze that was beginning to gust around the room. It was his magic but slightly different, a little something extra and Harry recognized the power of the Dementor. He would have to stay calm or this would end far too quickly.

Harry circled Pettigrew as the man struggled upright from the ground, scrambling to find his feet but too weakened from prolonged exposure to multiple Crucios. Harry came to a stopped in front of the man. He didn’t draw his wand because he wasn’t going to need it, but he raised his hands, palms facing outwards over Pettigrew’s temples. He watched the man’s eyes rolling desperately in his head, and felt Peter’s magic trying to shift him to his Animagus form but Harry held him still wordlessly. Slowly, he let the memories pour out from him and into Pettigrew, pushing them from his core and down his arms and sizzling out from his fingertips. “Crucio,” he whispered, just for show, and oh, how Peter screamed then.

The memories, the ones he had kept hidden back, locked away in his mind for so long, poured from him like molten lava. Memories of being a baby and being filthy and neglected for hours on end, in a rickety bassinet in the cupboard under the stairs. Memories of being ruthlessly disciplined for being too loud as a toddler. Memories of hunger pains so sharp running through him, gnawing on his belly, as he stood on a stepping stool and cooked dinner for the family that hated him from the time he was five. Being sunburned so badly he had to be taken to hospital because he had used his strange powers, powers even he didn’t understand, on an accident to escape Dudley’s meaty fists. Vernon had made him tend the yard from sunup to sundown without pause, and with only a water hose for refreshment.

There were far worse memories, but Harry adamantly refused to rifle through them and just shoved them away instead, Pettigrew screamed again and scrambled across the floor. Harry’s magic seized him, flipping him up and slamming him into the ground as Pettigrew suddenly seized violent mouth opened in a silent _o_ of surprise. Harry’s memories eventually gave way to his utter hatred for this man. It was far beyond what he felt for the Dursleys. He had been abused by them for so long his anger and hated for them had come from somewhere muted and lessened from time.

Peter had stolen something sacred from him. He had stolen his parents, his love, and his entire life. Peter had stolen every hope of anything good ever happening to Harry ever again, and for that his rage was pure, unadulterated, undiluted. Then, Peter had stolen his blood, and stolen Sirius’s right to be free. Peter twitched magnificently underneath his hands. The man was so contorted and pained he couldn’t even breathe to scream. He was spread out obscenely, his fat little body tightened beyond his control, his muscles rippling and cramping with the curse. Harry hated the man that he was comfortable enough in life to have been so well plumped, it made him remember it was this man’s fault he missed so many meals growing up.

Pettigrew gave a defeated grunt and his body drew so taut that his spread limbs lifted him from the floor until something in his back gave a deafening crack and his body gave way and twisted grotesquely. Bones shattered from the force of Harry’s hate and they protruded from the man’s broken skin, making him bleed, and it was a glorious thing to Harry, to get to watch the terror as it heightened and hit that crescendo before the man drew his last gurgling breathe and shrieked once before dying. Harry stood over him and watched Peter as his eyes grew dim. He watched him until the blood threatened to stain the tips of the fine shoes that he had been loaned, and he was forced to step back.

It was quite for a while and Harry floated in a haze caused by the satiation of his bloodlusts. The magic had made him feel mad with power, and he was still reeling drunkenly in the aftermath. Suddenly Harry smelled the deep, bone deep fear spiraling around the room from several of the weaker members. He could smell curiosity like the smell of some sharp spice from some. From others, like Voldemort, Lucius, and Harry met Blaise’s appraising stare too, these men craved power, and were drawn to it. For those that could feel the depth of his spell, for the unique twist he put on a curse unchanged for centuries, it was like an aphrodisiac.

Voldemort stepped forward, and Harry raised his head to smile at him. Voldemort raised him hands and began to clap. When the DeathEaters saw Voldemort’s salute they began clapping themselves.

“I suppose this means I win?” Harry asked in good humor.

Voldemort was surprised into laughing, and it was a sibilant, snake-like sound that Harry enjoyed. “My boy, had I had any doubt that you would not win, I would not have chosen the gift I did.” He motioned Lucius forward with a good-sized wooden chest. Lucius opened it and Voldemort pulled a swathe of black material that appear slick and scaled.

“What is it?” Harry asked taking it in his arms. It was some set of hooded robes, made from the skin of what looked remarkably like Basilisk. It was very finely sewn, and Harry could feel a variety of concealing charms, untraceable spells, and many more spells and charms Harry could sense if not understand. He looked at Voldemort, who was studying his reaction.

“Basilisk skin is practically impervious to magic. When a spell hits it skin it merely disintegrates. It’s the ultimate protection. These are robes fit for an assassin. There are several spells to aide in subterfuge I am sure you have realized already. There are also incantation, which you will find in the small journal in the trunk, that will allow you to glamour yourself to appear as other people. Yet another useful tool you will need.”

It had to be very expensive, and Basilisk was so rare. Harry could hardly believe that Voldemort would kill such a rare reptile for its skin. “Is this the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Yes, the one you slew. I had Severus collect it. It’s magic that much more powerful being that you are the one that slew the creature.” Voldemort didn’t look particularly please. He had, in fact punished Harry on two different occasion for the offense.

Harry shrugged sheepishly and ran his hands over the skin. “It’s incredible. I can feel the labor and magic that was put into it. I can feel and smell how the wizard that made it worked until his fingers bled, to make something worthy of his Lord. Not just an ordinary wizard though. It feels like a half-breed of some sort.”

“His mother was a rather roguish Dark Faery. She supervised in the crafting of the book.” Voldemort answered, as if he remembered the Faery lady fondly. Harry squashed the remote tingle of jealously. He was hardly one to talk.

“I am honored to accept this,” Harry murmured, oddly embarrassed. He felt his cheeks heat a bit and wondered if he was still capable of blushing.

“It will be my honor to give it to you, if you serve me well.” Voldemort turned to the rest of the DeathEaters, many who still looked a little sick or shell-shocked over Peter’s nasty end. “Go and continue your celebrations, celebrate into the night. The Ministry is nearly ours now, Harry Potter is for us, and not a weapon for the side of Light to wound us with. We own the educational institutions of England, and magic will be taught as it once was, not as Light or Dark but as magic. I go to make plans, enjoy the rest of the night.”

Voldemort swirled and was gone. Harry packed his new robes back into the chest and shrunk the thing to fit into his pocket. He looked at Lucius. “Shall we dance for old times’ sake?” He asked rather cheekily.

 

 

 

 

They did dance, though it was much later after the last guest had been sent away to bed, or successfully apparated home. Harry had beaten Lucius to his office, and was perched artfully on top of it now waiting. He had left the party an hour earlier, had taken a thorough bath, because Malfoy was a perfectionist and would notice if Harry hadn’t been attentive.

 Harry spent the next hour readying himself, banishing the hair from his body with a shaving spell, curling his wild hair into a pretty coif of curls that bobbed with his every move. He summoned an elf to quickly paint his face. Sultry black eyeliner, ruby lipstick, a little smoky white shimmer around his eyes. He stood still and stiff as the elf laced his corset tightly, just like Lucius like it. Then, he pulled on the thin red lace panties that had two tiny rows of black pearls, one on either side, that vee’d down toward his crotch, his penis bulging and straining against the lace.

He leaned over then, and wished Lucius were here to do this part, had this not been a surprise for the blonde. He pulled the thin black lace of one stocking carefully over his toes, mindful not to snag them on his painted red toenails. His breathing become stuttered and ragged as the material slipped sensually further up his leg. He couldn’t help but think of how utterly perverted he had become, but he could not deny liking this. He finished lacing the stocking up his thigh and quickly slipped the other one on. He stepped into the delicate crystal shoes that he had to walk so cautiously in, so softly. Finally the elf helped him slip into his icy white dress that was accented with sharp, crisp, black and red accents.

He watched as Lucius let out the last guest as he made the way to the man’s private office. Lucius always opened the door calmly, like this wasn’t something he was anticipating that badly, but Harry wasn't fooled. He waited calmly, and only looked up, shyly, when the door clicked shut.

Lucius wasn’t often someone whose jaw could be made to drop but Harry was proud when he accomplished just that. He smiled sweetly and lower his eyes demurely. Not that Lucius expected him to be shy once the game began in truth. Lucius sighed softly, pleased, and came to stand before him at the desk.

He ran slender, perfect fingers over the expensive bauble at Harry’s throat, ran it down the slight cleft where Harry’s corset pushed the muscle and flesh over his breastbone together, like tiny breasts. He knew a spell to give him real female breast, but Lucius liked it better like this. He was a dirty pervert, and like to know it was a boy under all that female trappings. “My, my. This is a very special treat. Look how beautiful my pretty boy has made himself. Such attention to detail.”

Harry’s breath faltered when Lucius picked up the edge of his calf length skirt and began scrunching the voluminous layers of cloth up Harry’s stocking thighs. His hands ran over the lace making Harry shiver and lean closer to the man’s heat. His bum slid forward a bit, his leg moved into Lucius’s touch with more force, and Harry reached forward and grabbed the outline of Lucius cock beneath his perfect trousers. They both gasped. Harry had to admit, he missed this man. He was too used to waking up to Lucius and falling asleep to him as well. He was a teenager despite what he had been through, after all, he mused. He wanted sex all the time.

“What a naughty little lady,” Lucius smiled and pressed him to the desk, with dark promise in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Sorry to tease with that last scene, ha-ha. Omg! I hadn’t realized how many people have been reading and leaving kudos on AoOO! Thank you guys sooo much, and everyone that left a comment too! I’m glad everyone seems to be enjoying it, and after taking the time to write such a nice long chapter, it’s nice to know it’s appreciated and enjoyed.

I do apologize for any grammatical errors or typos. I don’t have anyone around to proof read my stuff.

I have finals coming up, which bring the total of test I have to take in the next two week up to like 7 or 8, and I have a report to write ( research, Yuck!) so it might be a bit longer before the next update.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shattered, Chapter 4**

By: Diamonddancer229

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, and I’m not making money from this fic.

Chapter warnings: Graphic Violence, Adult Language, Sexual Behavior

* * *

 

**Chapter 4: Tom and the Dark Arts**

Packages arrived en masse with a small fleet of top notch tailors the next morning. Harry was confined to Lucius’s suites were he had arisen, because the blonde wanted to make sure Harry was the height of fashion. Harry, never having been one for fashion, was inclined to listen to the man’s advice. Harry liked his new clothes and he rather liked the way they made his new physique look so nice.

When all was said and done, far later after lunch, Harry was the proud owner of a new wardrobe. One fit for a Prince. He had more clothes in his expanded closet than Harry had ever owned in his life, and the basic knowledge of how to piece them together to make an attractive outfit. At the moment Harry was wearing a nice, sinfully fitted pair of dragonhide leather pants, red like blood and from a Chinese Fireball. Feeling rather experimental he forewent a shirt and slipped into a tight red leather vest that was a few shades darker than his pants. He pulled a Muggle looking pair of boots that were thick soled and black, from the bottom of his closet.

Harry left his hair wild, even as he pulled a thick gold chain over his neck. It was Tom’s locket and it had arrived with Harry’s packages this morning. The thick pulse of Voldemort’s magic was gone. Harry wonder if some of Voldemort’s planning had to do with reacquainting the pieces of his soul together. Regardless, the locket was a gift and a reminder from Voldemort. He didn’t care too much that it was a small stake on the Dark Lord’s claim, Harry rather liked it that he had gone from a mere sex slave to someone that people were trying to please and get in favor with.

Harry took a moment to admire his reflection then he pulled his assassin robes on, they looked quite stunning against the red leather of his outfit. He looked quite deadly and he had yet to pick up a weapon or a wand. He blew a kiss at his winking reflection and moved to leave his rooms.

Voldemort was having a meeting in his private study with only his closest of DeathEaters. Harry didn’t bother to knock, Voldemort’s magic opened the door as Harry came to it and shut it briskly behind him. “You are terribly late,” the Dark Lord said without looking up.

Harry was too shocked to say too much to that. The magic in the room had him dazed, it was emanating from his Master. Harry was literally swooning and had to grab the back of the chair in which Severus was sitting. He gasped, tried to draw breathe in, panicked a bit when he couldn’t get his lungs to work properly and remembered suddenly he didn’t actually need to breathe. Harry shut the function down with a thought and stopped trying to suck in air, he likewise shut down the pleasure center in his brain drastically decreasing the intoxicating feeling he had been so drunk with. It was odd to Harry, to feel his body respond to such unusual demands as if he had merely flipped a switch, and it made him feel a bit off but tremendously excited with the prospects of how he could put his discovery to use.

Harry shook his head once, wild lock flying into further disarray. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Lord Voldemort looked up. No, Harry mused with amazement, Tom Riddle was looking at him. Voldemort looked very near to Harry’s age, almost perfectly human, if his eyes hadn’t been the color of fresh blood. Voldemort was devastingly handsome as well, Harry thought he looked like a model from a Muggle underwear billboard. Voldemort’s face was chiseled from alabaster skin and brought to life by the shadows that clung to the sharp planes of his cheeks and jaw. The Dark Lord’s lips were full and glossy, like he’d been worrying them as he leant over the paperwork in front of him at the desk. Harry imagined those lips would be incredibly soft.

Voldemort’s hair was a deep brunette, slightly wavy, but styled neatly back from his head. His clothing were modern, stylish, and surprisingly age appropriate (Harry had figured Lucius could make even the Dark Lord improve upon his wardrobe choices, it was far more tasteful than his old black loose robes.) As impeccable as he looked though, Harry immediately noticed the stress and strain around the much younger face. The Dark Lord looked terribly fatigued.

“What’s going on? Your presence is so much stronger, but you look like you are about to pass out,” Harry blurted moving past the desk and kneeling down. “Not to mention you look like you have had a face lift.”

Voldemort looked briefly puzzled. “Face lift?”

Harry snorted in amusement. “It’s a Muggle surgery that changes a person’s face, generally trying to make them look younger or better. Of course, you have succeeded far better than they could ever hope to. Was it the…?” Harry ran off into silence leaving the question hanging in the air as he glanced at the others.

Voldemort nodded, but did not bother to comment so Harry decided to drop the subject for the time being. “Well, you certainly look like you could use the mother of all Pepper-up Potions.” Harry smirked and hide his face against the man’s lap. “Your magic was stronger when I came in.”

Voldemort patted Harry awkwardly on the head, before his hand settled in his hair. “It is, an unforeseen side effect that I did not realize until I was fully recovered. It is fortunate I had you to bring me the missing pieces I needed.” Voldemort’s hand left his head to finger the locket that had once felt so malevolent and deadly.

Harry enjoyed the coded talk. He was unsure to how much any of the others knew about the Horcruxes. Snape might possibly know from Dumbledore, but if Snape knew he would keep it in perfect confidence, Harry was sure. They were all unknown variables for the moment, but Harry liked to imagine that Voldemort was sharing another confidence, that in that knowledge Harry was especially trusted.

Harry blamed it on the Dursleys never loving him. He chuckled darkly and looked up into Voldemort’s hypnotic red eyes. This man had murdered his parents, Harry thought suddenly, and Voldemort’s eyes flashed in anger, he had seen too because Harry was looking him in the eyes. Harry smiled and pressed a kiss to the inside Voldemort’s wrist. “It hardly matters now, does it?” Harry whispered gums prickling with his close proximity to Voldemort thumping pulse.

The answered seemed to appease Voldemort, and Harry watched the young face soothe back into tiredness. He rose and stepped back, sitting on the plush cushion of the bay window behind Voldemort. He admired the view as the others continued their business, and Harry let his thoughts drift randomly. They were all giving reports on their various tasks and any bits of information that they had gleaned, when a thought crossed his mind.

He waited for a lull in the conversation and then broke in. “I thought the Ministry had already fallen? I thought it fell before Hogwarts, right before actually? You said after the competition though, that it had _almost_ fallen. No, you said they were nearly ours, that’s what you said?”

Voldemort chuckled and peeked at him. “The resistance gathered there after the Battle of Hogwarts when the DeathEaters were drunken with their victory and too busy with their revelry. The Order took it over. A foolish error on my part, I must admit, but who could blame me? I had just captured you after all, and you were a delightful reward. Dumbledore resides there now. How the old fool threw up the amount of wards at the level they are I’ll never know, but it has put him nearly at his deathbed and left him almost a squib I am told.”

“So the Order and Dumbledore live there?” Harry wondered if Ron and Hermoine were there, if they had made it out safe. Voldemort had often tormented Harry by telling him all the cruel ways he could have killed them but that Harry would never know.

“Yes, a lot of the refuge families live there. The ones that didn’t want to compromise with our new policies.” Voldemort gave him a knowing look and smiled like a shark, a disarming look for his youthful face. “Does it matter now? If you were to see them? If I were to order you to kill them?” The questions were venomous and cruel.

“Of course I would rather not, do you want me to lie differently?” Ron was a jealous asshole a good deal of the time but the youngest male Weasley, and Hermoine had stuck by Harry through the worst of his trials until he had been kidnapped. He felt the guilty weight of his betrayal at not destroying the Horcruxes, of giving them directly over and restoring the Dark Lord to his full powers. But Harry didn’t have to die now and that was all he could think of, because of this man, the Dark Lord he could live forever. “I am bound to you,” Harry admitted quietly, rising quickly from his place at the window and walking up behind the man to put his hands on Voldemort’s shoulders.

His face never changed but Harry felt the Dark Lord’s body tighten as if his answer had badly shocked and surprised him. Harry ran his hand over the taut, shivering muscle hidden by layers of clothes. He kneaded his fingers into the cloth and down into the flesh working the man muscles until the seemed a bit soothed. “There is still one piece you are missing, my Lord.” Harry meant it reassuringly.

Voldemort looked up behind his chair and caught Harry’s eye. His gaze darted discreetly to the curse scar on Harry’s forehead. “Yes, just one more, but I think it is safe for now, and it’s only a sliver of my potential anyway.”

Harry laughed and felt oddly pleased, and once again went to recline by the bay window.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a while before the inner circle of Voldemort’s DeathEaters finished up with their reports. Harry had tuned much out pondering the swirling, chaotic thoughts in his head. Finally they rose, Lucius all but shoving everyone but Severus from the doorway. The Potion Master stood silently at the fire before giving Harry a speculative look and bowing low to the Dark Lord. He turned and left, robes sweeping dramatically around him.

Lucius bowed low and left Harry alone with Voldemort, of whom was staring at Harry like he could eat him. Tired or not. Harry moved from the window finally, he sat on the edge of Voldemort’s desk dangerously close to the teetering stack of paperwork that had been reviewed or completed. “When do I get to do something?”

Voldemort smirked. “So eager Harry. I have no idea why you ever claimed to be on the Light side, you are terribly dark.”

Harry scowled and puffed his lip out in a fake pout, not that Voldemort appreciated such gestures but Harry hardly had to mind everything the man said now. “I’ve been stuck in this house forever, of course I want to leave and go do something. I am a man of action.”

“Gryffindors and their silly needs to go rushing off to get themselves into some sort of danger,” Voldemort chuckled humorlessly.

Harry scowled fiercely. “I’m not a Gryffindor anymore, I’m a bleeding mesh of monsters, and every one of them is inside me screaming for release of some sort or another. I really need something to do!”

Voldemort was laughing, but it wasn’t altogether too mocking, just a bit amused with Harry. Obviously the man was in good cheer, even though his magical reserves seemed depleted. Harry mused to himself that it would be the perfect time to kill the Dark Lord had Harry been willing to die for the cause, which he sort of wasn’t.

“Don’t worry little monster. I have something coming up for you very soon, but first I will have to hide that Horcrux somewhere a little further inside of you, perhaps at the edge of your own soul, if it is possible. I wouldn’t want Dumbledore to sense it, he may think I am done with you if you are returned with the Horcrux removed. It will make him drop his guard far easier for you. Be patient, my plans for you will take some of the most precise planning I have had to do to date.”

“What will I be doing? Can’t you just give me some sort of hint? Will I have to kill someone?” Harry hated that he sounded quiet so eager but more than a small part of himself was quickly becoming numb to his new reality.

“I want you to infiltrate the Ministry. We are going to stage a fake escape on your part. It will be tricky because I will have to include Severus in the plans and we will have to keep your true nature a closely guarded secret. None of the DeathEaters that know may speak of it, they have all taken an Oath.” Voldemort paused, seemed to gather his thoughts before continuing.

“Severus will become something of your care taker. You are to, under no circumstances, ever let anyone run a medical analysis on you or else your cover will be blown immediately. Severus is designing some rather complicated Potions that will make you appear still human and to also help you control your cravings, but if the Order ever finds out what you have become they will know that I have control over you.”

Harry was secretly thrilled at the prospect of having a chance to pay Dumbledore back for all the misery and suffering the barmy old fool had subjected him to over the years. “How will that work? What if someone sees my back?” Harry had a million questions but the look in Voldemort’s eyes quelled them and they died on his lips.

“It is not for you to worry about these things. I will instruct you in what to do when I have planned everything accordingly. However, if it would make you better knowing it, I am designing a very powerful glamour stone that I will put inside the locket when I am through with it. The stone will hold against threats like Moody’s magical eye, various common and obscure anti-glamour charms and spells. It will not register your glamours when you pass through wards that will detect such glamours. It will take many weeks yet, but I do not want to risk giving you away as a DeathEater, not when there is even the smallest fraction of a chance that Dumbledore will let you into his hiding hole with open arms. He thinks you incorruptible.” Voldemort smirked and gave a quick bark of harsh laughter.

Harry hated that Voldemort’s sentiments were so right. Harry had always thought he would never stoop to this level, never become a monster like this man before him. Voldemort had offered him a place in his army, by his side once. Just like with Draco Harry had refused, and he had learned quite thoroughly being refused pissed a Slytherin and their superiority complex off. Now Harry was the monster’s monster. Everyone was corruptible, Dumbledore was a fool.

“You are a genius, well, more so now that you aren’t obsessed with trying to kill me so much. You were a touch on the loony side then.”

“Perhaps…”Voldemort conceded, which was unusual. “You were beyond a touch irritating though, I could hardly be blamed.”

Harry laughed this time. “So I have been told many, many times before, and I am sure it’s not the last time either.”

“Tell me, what was that you did when you realized you were on the verge of becoming swamped by my magic when you came in?” Voldemort’s natural curiosity made his young face glow, and Harry wondered why Dumbledore choose to be so proactively against Tom Riddle when he had been a mere student under Dumbledore’s tutelage. Harry thought he looked rather handsomely studious and inquisitive.

Harry was confused only momentarily. “Oh, I don’t really know. Somehow I just instinctively knew how to shut certain areas that process certain responses to stimuli down. I don’t really know I just didn’t want to be stuck there like a deer caught in headlights, so my body kind of reacted a bit on its own.”

The Dark Lord looked appeased momentarily. “I should research into that. So many beast put in you though, I wonder which one would give you such precise control over your mental functions.”

“Why? Are you going to try to take it out so I can’t help but be overwhelmed and drooling over you?” Harry was teasing, but Voldemort gave him another of his _quelling_ looks.

“Do not be absurd, Potter. You would be all but useless to me, no better than the sex slave you are so eager to not be, should you becoming so intoxicated by my presence that it produces a catatonic state every time you were in a room with me.”

“Well, you can hardly blame me for asking,” Harry mumbled boldly. Voldemort slapped his cheek lightly, but even that slight aggression had Harry tensed and coiled and growling.

Voldemort smiled with his young face and slapped Harry hard on the other cheek just for his impertinence to growl at him. “Come hither,” Voldemort whispered demandingly, eyes like a freshly spilled wash of blood.

Harry obeyed without question.

Voldemort held his face tightly between his two thin, spidery hands. He held Harry’s face close to his, staring intently. Harry felt embarrassed and very aware of the focused scrutiny, but he held himself still. “Marvelous, and my control of you looks just fine to me,” Voldemort whispered before shoving his face away abruptly. “We should discuss the training regime I have planned for you. If you aren’t willing to be a slave then you will be a studious pupil. I have bestowed you with great gifts, Harry. My knowledge being one of them.”

Harry perked up a bit, Voldemort intended to have him trained? “What kind of knowledge?”

“Why, the Dark Arts Harry. You have a marvelous grasp on two of the Unforgivables, but the Dark Arts extend much, much further than three relatively simple curses. There are other things I wish you to learn, and I have a very skilled tutor in mind.” Voldemort grinned with evil delight.

“Fuck, its Snape isn’t it?”

“Language, Potter,” Voldemort warned but he was still smiling. “That is Professor Snape to you and yes. It’s logical because he is a master _Legilimens_ and _Occlumens_ , and these are two very important skills you are going to need as a spy. I cannot spare the time to teach you these things and I fear I am not patient enough for teaching if I had the time. Severus will be able to instruct you on these things even when you are away.”

“How will I get away if the Order does let me into the Ministry? I am sure they’ll assign guards to me, and maybe Hermoine and Ron will be there. What will I do when I need to hunt or something? Surely a potion isn’t going to fix everything you did to me; and how will I even get information back and forth?”

“Severus, of course. It is unlikely Dumbledore will trust you with much pertinent information that he has not also informed Severus of as well. I just want to integrate you into his plans, that way when the time comes to reveal your true allegiance it will be a crushing blow his schemes. It does not hurt that your defection will greatly decrease their already poor moral.”

Harry paced to the window and looked out over the manor’s plush green lawn. The sun was setting, casting thick shadows amidst the trees lining the edges of the property. Harry could see a small group of deer drinking at the edge of the lake along the southern end of the property. The sight was peaceful but he felt anything but. Something primal stirred in his gut at the site of the deer, at the challenge they would be to catch, and Harry just barely caught the whine coming up his throat.

Voldemort’s hand came down on his shoulder, a heavy weight to anchor him back in the moment. “I am sure you will be resourceful enough to sneak back here regularly enough, judging from your past escapades. I have your Invisibility Cloak too, and the Elder Wand which I will grudgingly admit is rightfully yours, seeing as I cannot use it unless I murder you and take it from you. Which I cannot do obviously.”

“Well, you could,” Harry said realistically. Voldemort’s hand on his shoulder tightened dramatically not that it bothered Harry overmuch.

“Foolish, reckless boy,” the Dark Lord cursed, ruffling Harry’s hair rather affectionately. “I have plenty of power and a wealth of magical artifacts at my disposal, keep your wand. I have something else I wish to gift you with later that will augment your position as my assassin, but that will be much later in the future after we have taken back the Ministry. Now you can keep asking question but that is absolutely the last bit of information you are working out of me. There are a great deal of factors we have not yet figured and you have more important things to worry with. Like the studies we mention.

Along with the mind arts you will be learning Potions, particularly poisons, their antidotes, anti-venoms, basic health and healing potions, pain potions, truth serums, just to name a few. You will have dueling instruction leaning heavily on battling spells, and the offensive counters to some of the nastier Light affinity spells. Lucius will also help you when you are here, he is an excellent duelist. There will also be language coursework, I expect you to fully grasp Latin, but also some of the more arcane languages. Narcissa will be good for that. Then some physical training in combat, martial arts and knife work, should you have to resort to such things, and everyone does at some time or other in the heat of battle.”

Voldemort’s long-winded list finally came to a stop and Harry wonder how he was going to master even part of the mention things let alone everything. He glanced at Voldemort behind him and was again startled to see the younger face, and the Dark Lord was barely taller than Harry this young. Red eyes stared back at him. “I’ll try.”

“No Harry, you will succeed. It is in your nature to succeed. No matter what it is that life throws your way you always succeed magnificently, do you not?”

“If that is what you call it, my Lord,” Harry grunted. He was alive he supposed, at least sort of. That had to count for something.

Voldemort laughed and his other hand fell down on Harry’s free shoulder. The Dark Lord leaned into him from behind. “You wouldn’t want me to believe you do not appreciate my gifts, would you now Harry?” he whispered softly, menacingly, against the tender shell of Harry’s ear.

“Oh no,” Harry murmured and turned away from the window into the warm shell of the Dark Lord’s arms. “Never,” Harry growled and nipped the sharp teenaged chin in front of him.

“Kiss me, Harry,” the Dark Lord sighed against his lips, and Harry had never heard such depth of need from the man, Harry’s studies truly forgotten for the moment.

He pressed his lips gently to the man’s mouth, and randomly thought Voldemort’s mouth was exactly the same though his face had been drastically altered. Harry’s tongue peeked out from between his extended, aroused fangs. Harry pressed it against the seam of Voldemort’s mouth and beckoned the man to open to him. Harry summoned just a bit of sexual energy, sex magic probably from the incubus or vampire, and sealed his body tightly against Voldemort in one violent movement.

Voldemort gasped and his lips parted allowing Harry entrance even as the man slid his tongue alongside Harry’s and into Harry’s mouth. The tasted each other leisurely, pulling groans and sighs from each other until Voldemort whirled on Harry, and suddenly Harry was being pressed back into the desk that had been behind them.

Voldemort paused, panting into the small space between them as he rubbed his hips in teasing circles against Harry’s. “Merlin, you wretched boy…”

Harry was unsure why he was being cursed that moment but he leaned forward as he levered himself back up towards the man’s mouth using a handful of the starched white shirt in front of him. Harry bit at the reddening mouth in front of him. He felt a spike of lust as he ran his hands over the skin he was fast exposing as he pulled the shirt from Voldemort’s pressed pants. “Merlin back to you, you wretched man,” Harry panted accidentally tearing a strip of shirt in his haste.

They kissed frantically, and Harry called a bit more magic into himself and pushed it along into the Dark Lord. It seemed to being doing the man a great deal of good, but then again it could have just been the flush of arousal bringing color and life to his youthful cheeks. Voldemort groaned hotly against Harry’s neck, and bit into the tender flesh there. Harry couldn’t contain the hoarse shout that echoed up from him. His neck was incredibly tender now since the change, it seemed. Voldemort took advantage of the fact mercilessly.

“Harry,” the man whispered against his lips, hips still and hard against Harry.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Call me Tom,” the man demanded suddenly, and his hands were tearing at Harry’s clothing, mindful not to rip anything perhaps because it was new.

Harry gasped when a cool hand grasped his hot, throbbing member suddenly and his mouth was once again assaulted. Voldemort pulled away and Harry felt breathless for a moment. “Say it,” Voldemort demanded again.

“Tom,” Harry breathed hoarsely. His belly was hot and tight with arousal and a small bit of confusion.

Voldemort’s, or Tom’s as he was wanting to be referred to as at the moment, eyelids fluttered shut and he groaned, hips snapping forward sharply into Harry’s. Tom tore at his mouth, nipping and drawing blood. Harry wondered briefly if his blood was as poisonous and as toxic as most of the Dark creatures he had been inoculated with, and if Tom was immune to it as he seemed to be with most everything else.

“Say it again,” Tom begged hands pressed tightly around Harry’s throat suddenly.

“Tom…” Harry moaned. His hands were scrambling along the desk seeking purchase as he fought his own nature, fought the need to flip them over and take the man above him savagely, as savagely as it looked like the Dark Lord may have been getting ready to take him. He could have pushed him over easily. Physically the Dark Lord was not a match for him, at least he did not think he was. Mentally was another thing, and Harry couldn’t deny there was an unseen force that stilled his impulses to take command of the situation and let Tom rain pleased kisses against his face. “Tom,” he croaked again, moaning when Tom pressed little kisses against his eyes and against the hollow dip of Harry throat. He gathered another shot of magic and gifted it to his Master.

This time Harry knew it wasn’t his imagination, the magic really was helping Tom out, the shadows underneath his eyes and the hollowness in his cheeks evening out and plumping up with vibrant youth. Tom was grinning from above Harry. “I feel that you clever little boy. See, like I said, always resourceful. You have powers you aren’t even aware of and yet you call on them and bend them to your will when you need them. Your magic is fluid, Harry, like the water in a stream bending around a rock to meet back up behind it. Vampires and Incubi have strong roots in sex magic. They can both call and send the magic through others.”

Tom plunged back into Harry’s mouth suddenly and Harry felt the man-boy slip his tongue along one of Harry’s sensitive fangs, deliberately pricking his tongue deeply. Harry was surprised by the thick, warm spurt of it against his tongue. Harry growled and his whole body rolled against Tom against his will.

The Dark Lord’s magic was greatly increased with the restoration of almost the entirety of his soul, and as such his blood was that much more potent. Harry was unprepared for the fierce thirst that lanced through him. He sank his claws into Tom drawing blood were his nails bit through cloth. “Tom…” he rasped in a deep, throaty voice that Harry didn’t recognize as his own. The Dark Lord shuddered against him, and his hands tightened until Harry had no choice but to stop breathing. The sensation was at once disturbing and electrifying.

Harry struggled because he knew it would please Tom. He struggled and whimpered, and he begged. He breathed the Dark Lord’s true name into the man’s ear with needy little breathes of air. He arched his back and yelled hoarsely, pleased beyond measure when Tom vanished their clothes and plunged into Harry’s body without warning or preparation, not that Harry ever got much preparation.

Their need was great and raw and it never mattered to Tom that they toppled the teetering stack of files that the man had been working on all afternoon. It didn’t matter when Tom flipped Harry onto his belly and Harry left needy little claw marks gouged into the deep mahogany wood of the very expensive desk. Nothing matter at all to either one of them, just the deep physical connection they were making in the moment, and the tiny little gasps Harry kept making through the pleasure. “Tom…”

 

 

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TBC…

Special thanks to veritykindle from AoOO for catching a fatal flaw in these first few chapters! I appreciate that you told me and I was able to change it and make my story more correct and better written, so thanks very much. I also want to say thank you for all the support you guys have been giving this story, it has been getting an extremely good response and I am thrilled people are liking it that much. Thank you all for reading! I am off to write some more, till next time.

 


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